


We Lost the Roadmap

by story_monger



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 97,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/story_monger/pseuds/story_monger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Tyne and Wear Department of Magical Management (DMM), kelpies, wayward spells and unauthorized druid rituals are par for the course. Which isn't to say Merlin Emerson hasn't been noticing some strange events. Or that Gwen Smith hasn't been approached by highly questionable characters. Or that Morgana Pendragon hasn't seen troublesome things in her dreams. Or that Arthur Pendragon, recently moved from the London DMM office, hasn't made disturbing revelations about the nature of magic. And who knows what Gaius is thinking?<br/>Best to treat it like another day in the office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to the insanely talented artist [0kiwi0](http://0kiwi0.livejournal.com) and the gorgeous watercolors she's provided for this story. I can't look at these illustrations and not grin like a complete dork. I feel so lucky to have been able to collaborate with her on this project!  
> Equal thanks to [doctoraicha](http://doctoraicha.livejournal.com) for betaing this monster of a fic, and doing a fantastic job of it.  
> And finally, thanks to the folks over at [After Camlann Big Bang](http://aftercamlann.livejournal.com). I was so excited when I found out that someone was reviving the big bang; you guys have created such a positive atmosphere and I've loved it.
> 
>  
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> [Art can be found here](http://0kiwi0.livejournal.com/65730.html)
> 
> [Soundtrack can be found here.](http://8tracks.com/story_monger/we-lost-the-roadmap)

**Then**

It’s not hard to go through with it. That’s almost the scariest part.

But Emrys does pause before he utters the final word. He does consider that this might be something he regrets. But he also feels the deep pain in his chest that has only ever grown in the past few centuries, and that helps him toss out the word almost carelessly. And that’s just the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t have the energy to care anymore.

That’s the last lucid thought Emrys has before he disappears.

***

**Now**

The most important thing to remember was that it hadn’t been Arthur’s fault. Of that Arthur remained certain. And granted, while the whole thing had been a grand fuck-up to the nth degree, it remained unfair and hasty to point the whole thing in his direction.

“Five buildings. Ruined. By _druids_. The people we’re trying to make _peace talks_ with,” Morgana enunciated, leaning over the coffee table. Her hands grasped her knees and her hair hung in a straight, black sheet past a face screwed into incredulousness.

“Yes,” Arthur mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. He clinked his beer bottle back on the table and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. He gave Morgana a thousand-mile stare. “This is true.”

“Right.” She swept her hair from her face and reached out to nab the beer bottle. She paused before drinking it. “You never followed through with that brunette last month, did you?”

“What? No.” Arthur rested his forehead on his splayed fingers and peered hazily at his stepsister from the shade of his hand. “Why?”

“I wasn’t interested in the cold sores,” Morgana took a swig and grimaced before checking the label. “Ugh, Arthur, White Fields? This stuff is foul.”

“She didn’t have any cold sores,” Arthur said in an ill-thought attempt to be chivalrous.

“’Course she did,” Morgana pushed the beer back in Arthur’s direction and stood to invade the alcohol cabinet. “She was just hoping you’d be distracted by her cleavage. Ohh, is that a bottle of Albert Bichot?”

“Yes, go ahead,” Arthur waved one hand. “Not as if I was saving it for anything.”

“If you’re drowning out your failure, at least do it with something decent,” Morgana flowed into the kitchen in search of an opener and glasses.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Arthur shouted into the kitchen.

“You’re the head of London’s Department of Magical Management, Arthur. In the eyes of every media outlet and higher-up of course it was your fault.” Arthur, unfortunately, had nothing to say to that because she was right. Morgana was absolutely, disgustingly right. There’d been no insubordination from anyone, no hapless intern who had mistranslated a message of vital importance. Just wild, unprecedented carnage of the architectural variety. Also of Arthur’s career.

Morgana reemerged juggling the wine bottle and two glasses. “I thought you said that talks were going well,” she said.

“They were!” Arthur’s hands flew up like two startled birds. “Last month’s meeting with the leaders went _exceedingly_ well. Then _this_.”

“Well it certainly didn’t come out of nowhere,” Morgana chided, setting the glasses down. “Druids have long memories; there must have been something you missed.”

“I. Don’t. Know. _What_.” Arthur heard his voice break just a tad, and shut his mouth abruptly. Morgana made a light sound as she dug the corkscrew into the cork.

“If it makes you feel any better, there have been worse screw-ups in this department. There’s Vincent Montgomery from the ‘70s.”

“Yes. Thank you. At least it’s not as bad as the time we almost had magical anarchists blow up Westminster.”

She popped the cork from its bottle, poured a healthy amount in one of the glasses, and handed it to Arthur. He eyed it miserably for a moment before accepting.

“Why are you being so nice?” he asked.

“So suspicious,” she tutted as she poured herself a glass.

“I’ll call it experienced. What are you here to— oh shit.” Morgana set the bottle down without looking at Arthur, and that if nothing else confirmed his suspicion. “They’ve made you the messenger boy, haven’t they? That’s the only reason they’d call you here all the way from Newcastle.”

Morgana rolled her eyes as she sipped.

“It was going to be either me or Uther, you twat. This is a favor.” Arthur really, really wanted to have a legitimate argument against that.

“Right,” he straightened. “Spit it out.” At worst, he was imagining disownment. Such was the concern of being the son of the head of the whole bloody Department of bloody Magical Management. He imagined that he could enter the private field. Set up with a contractor. Open his own office somewhere.

“You’re being transferred,” Morgana said, and Arthur blinked.

“I—what? Not fired?”

“No, and you’re damn lucky, frankly,” Morgana arched an eyebrow. “Uther seems to want to let you…redeem yourself in another branch.” And then—and this was what punctured the little bubble of hope Arthur had let blossom—Morgana smiled. A toothy, gleaming smile.

“Oh hell,” Arthur said without thinking.

***

[Gwen] _Did u hear news?_

[Merlin] _no. what news?_

[Gwen] _Will tell when u get here. Make the tube go faster_.

[Merlin] _doing my best._

Merlin slipped his phone into his pocket and picked up the newspaper he’d been reading. The lead story, the one about the druidic attacks down in London, made him want to wince and roll his eyes in equal measure.

“ _Officials said that five buildings in Mayfair have suffered considerable damage from the attack. No injuries were reported, though all residents have been evacuated from the buildings.”_

“Right, to their second homes in the country,” Merlin muttered to himself. The woman next to him said something, and Merlin lifted his head. She was glaring at him and looked vaguely familiar. She must take this route at the same time as him.

“Sorry,” he tried. She looked away with an annoyed-sounding huff, and Merlin returned to his paper.

“ _In a press conference yesterday, head of the Department of Magical Management (DMM) Uther Pendragon called the incident an act of terrorism._

_‘This is an obvious sign of hostility from the druidic people and it cannot be tolerated,’ he said. ‘Londoners should understand that the DMM is doing everything in its power to apprehend those responsible and ensure it won’t happen again.’_

_DMM officials have attempted formal communication with the druid leaders with no reported results.”_

As if the druids would show a hair on their heads at this point, with the mood everyone was in.

_“According to a 2011 survey, London contains a little over 40,000 self-proclaimed druids, about 0.5 percent of the total population. Tension has always been present between these magic-wielding people and the rest of the city. Negotiations with druid leaders in the last six months seemed to offer promise for a truce._

_It is unknown at this point what the attacks mean for future peace talks._

_Arthur Pendragon, head of the London DMM branch and director of the druidic negotiations, has yet to make a public statement on the event.”_

Merlin tossed the paper down with a barely concealed grunt of disgust. _Terrorism_. Honestly. No wonder the druids didn’t trust the DMM as far as they could spit.

The train slowed with a wild squeal, and Merlin jumped up as the doors slid open.

For a split second, Merlin looked around when something that sounded like his name reached his ears. But the traffic was brisk and probably he was hearing things, so he continued forward to jog up the stairs.

Five minutes later, he’d swung past Vivian, the building’s bored looking receptionist, and clattered his way down the steps into the basement level, where Tyne and Wear’s—indeed all of North East England’s—own DMM branch could be found.

Gaius hadn’t arrived yet, based on his closed office door, so Merlin dumped his messenger bag on his desk and peered into the small meeting-slash-break room.

He found Gwen doing customary battle with the office’s ancient coffee machine.

“Oh thank god,” she breathed when Merlin approached. “It’s being worse than usual. Could you…?”

Merlin eyed the machine as it gurgled threateningly. “Have you tried giving a wriggle?”

“’Course,” Gwen flicked at the machine with a wrinkle of her nose.

“Grab the mugs then,” Merlin leaned forward, one eye on Gwen’s back as she fetched two chipped mugs. In the moment when the ceramic clattered against their wooden hooks, he breathed a single word and felt the machine warm in response.

As Gwen turned, he slapped the machine and wriggled a few buttons for emphasis. The machine gurgled again and then, reluctantly, released a stream of hot coffee.

“ _Lovely_ ,” Gwen crooned, placing a mug under the stream. “I swear, I don’t care how tight the budget is, I’m insisting on a new coffee machine from Gaius for next quarter. What would we do if you get sick or something?”

“You can always use the coffeehouse down the street,” Merlin leaned on the table. Gwen stretched her mouth sideways and shrugged.

“Funnily enough, a public servant’s budget and tightwad personality don’t make coffeehouses all that appealing.” They watched the mug fill for a moment before Merlin cleared his throat.

“So there’s news?” he asked, and Gwen straightened.

“Yes! Sorry! Morgana texted me about it last night. You know the druid fiasco in London?”

“’Course,” Merlin hiked himself onto the table and clasped his hands between his knees. “Are they going to make us turn in a report on druidic relations in our area?”

“No,” Gwen leaned forward, eyes bright. “But the London branch’s DMM head was removed from his position—“

“Isn’t that Arthur Pendragon? Morgana’s brother?” Merlin frowned. He recalled the man from a few conferences: blond, impeccably dressed, and practically wafting essence of public school.

“The one and only,” Gwen agreed. Her smile, usually sweet, had become positively wicked. “Guess where he’s being transferred.”

“Where he’s being— _no._ ” Merlin unclasped his hands and straightened. “No bloody way.”

“I almost didn’t believe it myself,” Gwen removed the first mug from the machine and place a second in its place. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Morgana sound so...” she struggled for the right word. “Eager,” she decided.

“Oh,” Merlin realized. “Don’t they hate each other?” He accepted the mug of coffee and had to hold back a grimace as he drank. Gwen was right. Magical help or not, they needed a new coffee machine.

“I’m not sure, actually,” Gwen crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, tilting her head. “They’re not…well, not like me and Elyan maybe. There’s a lot of tension in that family.”

“Enough to cut with a knife,” Gaius’ voice carried into the room.

“Hullo Gaius!” Merlin called out, leaning back enough to glimpse the branch’s head walk past them on the way to his office. “Did you hear about our newest employee?”

“Indeed,” Gaius said, and the raised eyebrow could practically be heard. “Words cannot express my joy at babysitting both of the department head’s wayward children.”

Gwen caught Merlin’s eye for a moment.

“It’ll be an adventure, Gaius,” Gwen called out.

“I’m too old for adventures,” Gaius disagreed, the sounds of shifting paper reaching them. “We’re meeting at nine about the project in Belford, you two, I want to see outlines.” Merlin hissed and slid from the table.

“Best get that done,” he gripped at his mug of coffee, and Gwen half-smiled sympathetically.

“See you in a bit then,” she returned her attention to the coffee machine, which was still gurgling at them threateningly.

***

Arthur had to admit that for a few brief minutes the next morning he considered going to Uther and asking for—something. Something, perhaps, that did not include his moving to North East England in the middle of winter where he’d be subjected to Morgana as his coworker in some dingy outer department branch.

(“For goodness sake, Arthur, it’s Newcastle, not the Arctic Circle,” she’d rolled her eyes at him the night before.)

Arthur stared at his ceiling hand dug into his hair, vividly aware that his life had seemed just fine only 24 hours before. Fantastic, even, with the collection of unregistered druids they’d flushed out. His father had actually sent a note of approval for that one.

Arthur rolled over onto his stomach and released a low, pathetic moan.

The door clacked open and two thin, strong hands rolled Arthur back onto his back. Morgana leaned over him, looking disgustingly put-together for the amount of alcohol she’d consumed last night.

“You’re not hungover,” she stated. “So don’t pretend. We’re leaving in an hour.”

Arthur sat up abruptly and narrowly missed cracking his head against his stepsister’s.

“We _can’t_ —I don’t have a flat up there. I—“ he faltered and waved his hand at the room in general.

“You can sleep in my guest room until you get your things delivered,” Morgana chirped, clacking away to sweep open the curtains and oh, Arthur really was going to kill her. She had on the smile he associated with hyenas and man-eating crocodiles.

“Why,” he pressed two fingers in his temple, “do I need to leave today? No press conference?”

“No press conference,” Morgana agreed. “A press release should be in your in-box for you to approve. They want you out of the city as soon as possible. Uther’s orders,” Morgana called out, now rifling through Arthur’s carefully organized closet and extracting hangers of dress pants and shirts. “Apparently the media’s starting to smell blood in the water.”

“That’s a load of—“ Arthur had to pause when his mobile began to vibrate against his bedside table. He leaned over and checked the caller id, pressed ‘accept’ and said, “Arthur Pendragon.”

“Hello, this is Megan Dayer from the BBC. I wanted to call to ask if you can offer your perspective—“

Arthur scowled, hung up, and threw the phone down on the blankets. How on earth had the reporters gotten hold of his personal mobile number?

He didn’t dare look in Morgana’s direction. He could practically smell the smugness as it was.

“Stop that, you’re going to ruin the crease,” he rolled out of bed and snatched a pair of dress pants from Morgana. “I’ll be ready in an hour, alright? Get out.”

“Just the basics,” Morgana reminded him. “Uther’s already arranging to have the rest sent in a few days.”

“Convenient,” Arthur bit out. “Just how many suggestions did you make, Morgana?”

“None, for your information. And I’ll remind you that it’s this or a very public dismissal from the DMM entirely,” Morgana told him airily as she strode from the room. Arthur scowled, and waited until the door had closed before he let it drop from his face and sighed into his hand instead. She was right, of course.

And if there was one thing he’d learned with Uther as his father, it was to never let the public see his weaknesses. So he grabbed a garment bag and began packing.

***

Merlin was in the middle of deciphering a report on magical creature populations in the North Sea when the door opened and closed, followed by an indicative clacking of high heels.

He looked up to find Morgana removing her scarf and coat, her cheeks flushed.

“Looks chilly out there,” he said in greeting, setting down his highlighter.

“And damp,” Morgana agreed. “How have you lot been? How’s the Belford project?”

“Moving along,” Merlin said. “We have a plan of action more or less mapped out. Can I get you some tea?”

“You’re fine,” Morgana fluffed her hair. “I’m not going to be in long today. Just figuring out some logistics with Gaius.”

At that moment, Gwen emerged from Gaius’ office with a thick stack of papers and her hair in a messy bun.

“Morgana!” she brightened. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Uther wanted me to get Arthur out of London sooner rather than later,” Morgana explained. She peered at the half-open office door. “Is Gaius—“

“You may want to give him a few minutes,” Gwen set the pile of papers on her desk, located next to Merlin’s. “He’s emailing the branch in Leeds: something about a sorcerer messing up water pipes in York.”

“And they’re coming to him for help, are they? I’m not sure why Uther doesn’t promote him,” Morgana leaned against Merlin’s desk, her expression critical. “Or at least get him out of this branch. He’s far and away the most experienced person in the entire department.”

“Not positive, but I think the sordid past dabbling in magic may put a damper on things,” Merlin flipped his pen and didn’t quite look up. Morgana made a dismissive sound.

“So is Arthur in town?” Gwen asked, pulling her hair from its bun. “When’ll he be joining us?”

“He’s reorganizing my closet right now, no doubt,” Morgana let out a half laugh and uncrossed her arms. “He’ll be staying with me until he can get a flat of his own figured out. Everything’s been in a bit of a rush.”

“I’ll say,” Gwen tilted her head. “It’s been, what, all of two days? I thought they were just going to ride out the storm.”

“You two haven’t been in London,” Morgana shook her head. “It’s been insane. People panicking, the word ‘terrorist’ being thrown around like condoms on a uni campus. No, the people weren’t going to let this one go by without someone losing their job.”

Merlin didn’t voice the sentiment that if Uther had restrained from using such words as “terrorist attack,” then tempers might have remained cooler. Still, Merlin managed to feel a flicker of pity for Arthur; he knew as well as anyone in this field that mistakes in dealing with druids were often far too easy to commit.

Gaius’ office door swung open and the man peered out.

“Ah, Morgana,” he greeted. “Back from the front lines.”

“Yes, not that I saw you there helping,” Morgana said critically. “I could have used you.” Gaius made an unapologetic sound.

“I’m too old to be traipsing all over the country,” he said. “If Uther wants my opinion he has my number on speed dial.”

“Does he really?” Morgana sounded far too pleased with the idea.

Gaius merely gave her a look and continued, “I have half an hour before my meeting with Monmouth. If we could make this quick,” and disappeared back into his office.

“Talk to you two later,” Morgana waved to Gwen and Merlin before following Gaius and closing the door behind her.

“Well they’re being awfully secretive,” Gwen pursed her lips. “I suppose they’re discussing Arthur?”

“I don’t see what there is to discuss,” Merlin picked back up the report and peered at it, trying to find his place again. “We steer him toward an empty desk and give him reports to file.”

“Merlin, we can’t treat the head of the London DMM like an intern,” Gwen said, her voice just this side of scolding.

“ _Former_ head of the London DMM branch,” Merlin pointed out.

“Son of the DMM director, then.”

“We’ve been working with his daughter for two years now.”

“Who we definitely don’t treat like an intern,” Gwen closed the circle of logic with a little snap. “Finish that report Merlin, I know you need to give a brief about it to Gaius in a few hours.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it Smith?” Merlin asked.

“Indeed it does not, Emerson,” Gwen agreed, sitting at her desk and flipping her laptop open.

The corner of his mouth twitching, Merlin returned his attention to the North Sea report.

He’d given it another forty-five minutes, Morgana and Gaius already emerged from the office and gone, when he set it down and frowned at it mightily. Gwen’s tapping paused.

“Problem?” she asked.

“Read this bit, will you?” Merlin leaned over to hand the report to her, and pointed to a paragraph circled with blue highlighter. He watched Gwen skim the text, a little line appearing between her brows as she did so. She looked up abruptly, hairs falling into her eyes.

“They’re still hanging around here?” she asked. “I thought the merfolk went to the Iberian Peninsula for the winter.”

“That’s usually what happens…” Merlin shook his head and tapped at the accompanying graph. “But this is saying that monthly sightings have stayed in the mid-hundreds. That’s way too many merfolk for this to be a fluke.”

“We haven’t heard a word of this,” Gwen sounded as if she was edging towards annoyed. “That’s practically down the street. Who wrote this?”

“Er, Freya,” Merlin flipped to the front page. Freya (who along with being Merlin’s ex also happened to have some substantial magic—not that Merlin knew anything about _that_ ) led the DMM’s small water division, overlooking any and all water-related magical issues. Merlin liked her immensely and couldn’t see her withholding important information from the Tyne and Wear branch.

“Give her a call,” Gwen urged. “Maybe she sent an email that got lost. Or something.”

Merlin did so, only to be automatically redirected to Freya’s voicemail.

“She’s probably in the middle of that fuss in York. Water pipes and all,” he shook his head after leaving a brief message. He glanced over to Gwen and found her biting her bottom lip pensively. “What?” he asked.

Gwen stacked a few packets before speaking slowly.

“Do you remember the incident with the wells last year?”

“What, up in Northumberland?” Merlin did recall, since it had been the largest incident to befall their branch since his arrival three years ago. Mysteriously, nearly all the wells in a hundred mile radius had been rendered undrinkable; the water black and foul. After much investigation, he, Gaius and a police officer named Leon had managed to find the source of the poison in the underwater reservoir: the remnants of a hatched egg and runes that Gaius confirmed as magical in nature.

Though the water had managed to be cleaned up, they’d never found the perpetrator.

Now, Merlin looked at Gwen with his eyes growing wider.

“You’re trying to say it’s the same person? Backing up York water pipes? Keeping merfolk here for the winter? What, because it’s water magic? Hydromancy?”

“Goodness, I don’t know. But the merfolk wouldn’t be wintering in the North Sea unless they had good reason. Their food supply hasn’t shifted has it?”

Merlin shook his head. “As soon as Freya calls back, I’ll bring it up to her,” he said. Then, because Gwen was still worrying her bottom lip, he added, “I’ll bet she sees this, Gwen. Probably waiting for more evidence before she starts crying wolf.”

“Right,” Gwen rested her head on one hand. “No, you’re right. That makes sense.”

“Right,” Merlin echoed. He shifted in his seat and looked over the graph again, his brow never quite smoothing over.

***

Gwen left the office half an hour later, inviting Merlin to join her and a group of their friends for drinks that evening.

“I need to wait for Gaius to talk about this,” Merlin waved the North Sea report. “You have fun though.” His smile suddenly became wicked. “Say hello to Lance for me.”

Gwen didn’t grace him with a reaction, just said, “Have a nice evening, Merlin,” and slipped on her coat before closing the office door with a sharp snap.

Merlin grinned at his desk. He and Morgana had already taken bets on how long it’d be until the wedding announcement.

Gaius reappeared about twenty minutes after Gwen had left, his mouth stuck in a sour line.

“Merlin,” he gestured at him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No trouble,” Merlin grabbed the report and followed Gaius into the office. “No big plans tonight.” He paused before asking, “Trouble with Monmouth?”

Gaius sighed. “Gregory is one of my oldest and dearest friends, but it’s an inescapable truth that he has a stick up his behind when it comes to his precious record system.”

Merlin had to press a knuckle to his lips to stop from laughing.

It was no wonder that Monmouth and Gaius had their differences as far as organization. Gaius’ office was a small, cluttered space, mostly taken up by bookshelves holding ancient-looking tomes about magic. That and papers of various, unknown purposes. Merlin had often pitched the idea to Gwen and Morgana that Gaius must use small amounts of magic to find anything, and neither had necessarily dismissed the idea.

“Take a seat,” Gaius gestured. Merlin moved a stack of papers from the single rickety chair and did so as Gaius flipped through a folder containing what looked like the office’s financial report.

“It seems that Ms. Smith has petitioned again for a coffee machine,” Gaius said, and Merlin shrugged.

“It makes a pretty foul cup,” he said, and saw Gaius’ mouth lift on one side.

“Well now,” he nodded to Merlin. “The North Sea report?”

Merlin launched into the discovery he’d shared with Gwen, Gaius listening with his hands folded over his mouth. When Merlin had finished, he didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“You said you called Freya?” Gaius asked, and Merlin nodded. “Then that’s all we can do for the moment.” He held out a hand. “I’ll read this through, Merlin, thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Trying to fight a vague feeling of disappointment, Merlin handed over the report and watched Gaius place it in an unlabeled folder.

“While I have you here, there’s something else I’d like to discuss,” he said, placing the folder in a desk drawer. He glanced up at Merlin. “You may have already guessed it, though.”

“Er,” Merlin shifted in the chair. “The Belford project?” Gaius gave a put-upon sigh, which Merlin did not find particularly fair.

“What do you know of Uther and Arthur Pendragon?” he asked, and Merlin blinked.

“Er,” he repeated. “Head of the DMM, son of head of DMM. The latter of whom is knee-deep in shit right now. Is there…much more to know?”

“Plenty more,” Gaius leaned back and surveyed Merlin, looking as if he were thinking something over. “I know you’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Uther, but I’m sure you’ve picked up on his attitude toward magic.”

“He was calling the druid incident in London a terrorist attack!” Merlin straightened. “What on earth does he expect to achieve with that kind of attitude?”

“I’m not saying I disagree, Merlin, but the fact remains that Uther would strongly object to the discovery that a warlock is currently working in his department,” Gaius gave Merlin a significant look.

“Are you worried I’m going to—Gaius, I’ve kept my magic a secret from Gwen and Morgana just fine. Why should Arthur be any different?”

“Gwen is too good a friend to betray you, and Morgana dislikes Uther’s policies too much to tell him,” Gaius explained. “I’m only saying, if you’re being careful now, ensure there’s no chance of discovery in the future. Arthur is used to being in the thick of London’s magical community; he knows the signs and he’s loyal enough to his father to make a report.” He watched Merlin slump in his chair and angrily ruffle his hair.

“Uther should be grateful,” Merlin muttered. “How many disasters have you and I averted using magic? If he’d just include more of the druids and sorcerers into his—“

“Those are decisions far above your pay grade, boy,” Gaius reminded him, and Merlin looked up a little sheepishly.

“Right,” he straightened. “Sorry I—no, need to worry.”

Gaius made a small “hmph” in the back of his throat. “That means no more magically coaxing the coffee machine to work,” he said. When Merlin tried to give him an innocent expression, he shook his head. “I’m old, boy, I’m not stupid. Now go on, I have a budget to wrangle.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Arthur, one more petulant sigh and I swear I’m leaving you on the pavement,” Morgana threatened. Arthur ignored her and peered out the window at the standard morning traffic. Living in the city, Arthur would have expected his stepsister to use the metro, but Morgana explained that the closely packed crowds gave her headaches.

“I can do it when it isn’t rush hour,” she’d explained as he followed her toward the garage where she had her car parked. “But this time of day? Too many people… _thinking_.”

“Right,” Arthur had said. “God forbid we mortals think too loudly.”

Now, Arthur wondered whether the headache of traffic wouldn’t have rivaled the headache of people _thinking_. (And for goodness sake, he didn’t think he’d ever heard such a ridiculous excuse for avoiding people.)

Morgana, however, seemed far too busy singing along to some horrendous, sugar-coated song on the radio. Honestly, he didn’t understand how Morgana, who stepped on people like they were cockroaches with her overpriced stilettos, managed to act like she was still nine.

“You know I hate that boy band crap,” he gave in after three blocks.

“My car,” Morgana said cheerfully, turning into a smaller street.

***

The first person Arthur caught sight of when Morgana led him into the office was a pretty young woman with a pencil stuck haphazardly into a loose ponytail. She brightened as Morgana closed the door and moved to a stand.

“Hello!” she grinned, leaving her desk and approaching Arthur with an outstretched hand. “You must be Mr. Pendragon.”

“Arthur, please,” Arthur accepted her hand, and found her grip firm yet polite.

“Gwen. Gwen Smith,” the woman nodded. “I’m afraid Gaius is busy at the moment, but I can get you something to drink until he’s ready.”

“Oh god, Gwen, don’t tackle that thing for Arthur,” Morgana said behind him. “Unless Merlin’s here.”

“Not yet,” Gwen shook her head and retreated to perch on a second desk, notably messier than the one she’d been sitting at. “I think Gaius wanted him to drop off a few files for Leon down at the station.”

“Leon Lemarc? He’s my best mate,” Arthur offered, pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t know he worked with you lot.”

“Really?” Gwen tilted her head. “He…he mentions you quite a bit.”

“Don’t worry Gwen, Arthur’d know if he spent less time rambling about his own office,” Morgana offered. Arthur shot her a look.

“So, does Newcastle have a magic task force in the police?” Arthur asked, determined to be the adult in this situation.

“Oh no, we don’t have nearly enough magical emergencies out here,” Gwen shook her head. “But there’s about five men in the Northumbria Police,” she counted them out, “Leon, Gwaine, Percival, Lance, and my brother, Elyan, who tend to handle them when they crop up. They usually work with us when they need technical expertise.”

“Bit different from London then,” Arthur nodded.

“Much quieter,” Gwen agreed. “Usually we deal with poltergeist complaints and tracking sorcerers’ changes in addresses.”

“Oh, Gwen, speaking of which, do I still need to go to Alnwick today?” Morgana asked. “Something about poltergeists in a cemetery?”

“Ah, I’m not sure, the locals may have handled it already,” Gwen scooted off the desk. “Let me call.” She went to her desk and shuffled through a pile of papers before extracting one and jabbing at her desk phone.

“So,” Morgana said in a low voice. “What do you think? Not as swanky as the London offices, but it has its charms.”

“The plastic tree adds character,” Arthur deadpanned.

“Yes hello? Mr. Ferguson?” Gwen said from her desk, and Morgana lowered her voice further, angling her body away from Gwen.

“Listen, I don’t care what opinions you’re forming, but you’d better treat these people like gold, because they are. They’re better than any of the ladder-climbing hotshots you’ve been working with, so if you so much as—“

“Hey, hey,” Arthur lifted his hands. “You know I respect Gaius.”

“You’d be an idiot not to,” Morgana said, unimpressed. “Just try not to act as much like an ass as you usually do.”

“Regular ray of sunshine, you are,” Arthur muttered. Gwen hung up before Morgana could give a reply.

“They said they had a private exterminator come in two nights ago, Morgana,” Gwen called out. “They’ll call us if they need help.”

“Someone DMM-approved?” Morgana left Arthur to peer at a name Gwen had scribbled on the paper with the church’s number.

“Morgause Gorlois. Mouthful, that one. Never heard of her.”

“I’ll check the records,” Morgana said slowly. “Never hurts to look.”

“You’re thinking unregistered sorcerer?” Arthur offered.

“Got plenty of those around here,” Gwen nodded grimly. “You’d be surprised, especially in the rural areas. Every so often we get calls about missing goats and someone’s neighbor seen sneaking out to do solstice rituals.”

Arthur nodded, familiar with similar dealings in back allies and nondescript hotel rooms. He felt a small swoop of nostalgia for the danger of London’s DMM branch. Not that Newcastle wasn’t a large city in its own right, but it didn’t have the same flavor as London, the same sprawling vastness and dangerous history.

The single office door clattered open then, and Gaius emerged looking more than a little bedraggled. He brightened, however, at the sight of Arthur.

“Arthur, how are you?” he stepped forward to shake Arthur’s hand, and Arthur felt himself grinning in response at a familiar—and _friendly_ —face. “How’s your father?”

“Probably wishing you were there,” Arthur replied as gaily as he could manage. “That or firing someone else.”

“Just as well for you to winter here then,” Gaius nodded, mirth audible in his voice. “Eventually Uther will cool down and everyone can go back to being sensible.”

“I was about to bring the desk up from storage,” Gwen piped up, Morgana still looking over the paper from the church. “We could set it up…there…somewhere.” She gestured vaguely toward the plastic tree.

“I’m afraid it’ll be a bit cramped, Arthur,” Gaius said. “No matter my petitioning, the board never seems to get around to giving us the funds for larger accommodations.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Arthur said, very aware of Morgana’s presence and resolutely not thinking about his office in London with its wide, mahogany desk and skyline view. He decided, once he returned to his position, that he’d talk to his father about funds distribution.

For now—“Do you need help Gwen?” he asked.

“Oh no, the janitor’s going to get his cart.”—he’d have to settle.

***

Merlin had all but forgotten that Morgana’s brother was coming in today until he entered the office and found a vaguely familiar-looking man scooting a new desk toward the wall.

“Hello,” Merlin greeted, dumping his bag on his desk. “Arthur Pendragon, is it?” Arthur straightened and turned around, taking a moment to register the hand extended in his direction.

“Yeah, hi,” he shook it, looking over Merlin with an expression that didn’t suggest he was overly impressed with what he saw. “Listen,” Arthur continued. “Morgana went to look up…something and the girl, ah…”

“Gwen?”

“Gwen. She had to go to the loo. So could you give me a hand with this?” Arthur nudged the desk. “I think it’s snagged on the carpet.”

“I…sure,” Merlin made for one end of the desk.

“Alright, one, two, three,” Arthur ordered, and together they lifted the desk to swing it several inches until it met the wall. As they set it down, Arthur suddenly released a yelp.

“Fucking hell, you idiot, that was my foot!”

“Sorry!” Merlin jerked back from the desk. “Are you hurt? I—I think we have some ice in the freezer.”

“Forget that, you scratched my shoe,” Arthur continued, staring down at his feet with mounting horror. “Do you have any idea how much these cost?”

“Um—“

Merlin felt that he was rapidly losing control of the situation.

“More than your position is worth. _Damn_ ,” Arthur growled just as the office door opened to admit Gwen. She stopped short and blinked at the two of them. After a split second of heavily awkward silence, Arthur began scooting at the desk again, his face passive and hard. Merlin looked at Gwen a little desperately, and she began moving again, albeit carefully.

“I was about to tackle the coffee machine,” she said in a cheerful voice. “Merlin, can I have your help?”

Merlin followed her eagerly, glancing back at Arthur, where he was trying to be subtle about watching them leave. Gwen gently tapped the door shut with her foot when they entered. Merlin hurried for the machine, mouthing his usual spell.

“Is everything all right?” Gwen asked slowly. Merlin made an approximation of a laugh.

“I don’t—I feel like I’m in a bad comedy flick. Give me a second, will you?”

Gwen sighed and crossed her arms, her head tilted as she met Merlin’s eyes. A moment passed, and her lips suddenly pursed as if smothering a smile.

“You should have seen his expression when we brought the desk up,” she finally said, and Merlin let loose a surprised guffaw. “Oh, shut up,” she lowered her voice, though a full smile had snuck onto her face. “I’m sure he’s fine, really. He’s had a really rough last few days, Merlin, we should give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“To hear Morgana talk about him—“

“I’m sorry but Morgana has her moments.” Gwen cleared her throat. “Not that I said that, of course.”

“Of course,” Merlin cocked his head. Gwen rolled her eyes and shoved Merlin’s shoulder before reaching for the mug filling with coffee.

“Here,” she gave it to Merlin. “Give it to him. Apologize. We all want to get off on the right foot.” Merlin accepted it with a pleading expression. “No, Merlin,” her voice grew firm. “I can already see it’s going to be bad with Morgana and Arthur sniping at each other whenever she’s in the office, I don’t need to play mother to you two as well.”

“No one’s asking you to play mother,” Merlin muttered, but placed one hand under the mug and headed towards the door, albeit dragging his feet horribly.

When he reemerged from the meeting room, he found Arthur opening several drawers to investigate their contents. He stood watching for a moment before clearing his throat. Arthur looked up.

“Er,” Merlin stepped forward. “Listen, things are busy around here right now and I may be a bit high strung—“

“Me too,” Arthur said in a flat voice. “I’ve been enduring hell from Morgana and I’ve just lost my job and have been shuttled here so fast I’ve got whiplash.”

“Oookay. I see that. Well, _I’m_ just going to be responsible here and say I’m sorrryyyyyy.” At that moment Merlin’s feet snagged on the edge of the desk and the mug went flying forward, crashing against Arthur’s chest and sending a spray of hot coffee across his shirt.

“Oh,” Merlin said in a quiet voice as Arthur leapt back and screamed bloody murder. “Shit.”

***

“I quit,” Arthur announced, sponging at his reddened chest with a wad of wet paper towels. “I quit. I don’t give two fucks what my father says about it. I’ll open my own private investigation office and…and exorcise ghosts if that’s what it takes. I will. See if I don’t.”

“I remember you saying you always wanted to go into the military,” Morgana reflected, the paper towel roll stuck on three of her fingers and held in Arthur’s direction. “Or was the police? I think it changed around secondary school.”

“No, I am _leaving_ ,” Arthur punctuated the ‘leaving’ by ripping another paper towel from the roll and wetting it in the sink. He started on his shirt, an Armani, thank you, dabbing at the ugly swathe of brown.

“Arthur—“

“Shut _up_ , Morgana. I don’t need you making some snide comment.”

“I wasn’t going to make any snide comments,” Morgana lifted her chin. “I was going to point out that this was an accident and Merlin’s clumsy by nature and you shouldn’t make decisions you’re going to regret later.”

“Look, Morgana, he nearly gave me second-degree burns! It _hurts!_ ” The bathroom door squeaked open and a man froze at the doorway. His eyes darted between Morgana and the shirtless Arthur before he stepped backwards and let the door smack shut. Arthur and Morgana stared after him. Arthur inhaled.

“Did he—no, I don’t care, I’m leaving now. As soon as my shirt dries enough for me not to freeze as soon as I step outside, I’m taking a cab. Ridiculous place, Newcastle. Never got cold enough to freeze your balls off in London.” He realized he was rambling as he scrubbed frantically at his shirt. Paper towel remnants appeared on the stained fabric and it was at that moment: shirtless in a Newcastle government bathroom with coffee burns on his chest and a stranger apparently under—whatever impressions about him and his stepsister, who was currently holding out paper towels for him with a highly, highly critical expression…that was when he realized how utterly his life had fallen apart.

“Arthur,” Morgana said in a surprisingly gentle voice, and Arthur looked up as his hands fell still. “I think you are tired and frustrated and frightened,” she said in words that pinged neatly against the tile and mirror. “And that no doubt Merlin is tearing himself up for whatever trouble he’s caused—believe me, he once bought me obscenely priced tickets for my favorite band when he accidentally deleted a report I was working on. I also think that you’re giving up a wonderful opportunity to work under Gaius, one of the best in the business, and to show Uther that you deserve your position back.”

That last one, if nothing else, sent Arthur’s shoulders sinking.

“You honestly think he’s going to reinstate me?” he asked in a flat voice. “That’s not how it works.”

“I think he’s worried enough about the family name to bring you back from Newcastle at one point or another. Maybe not the same position, but something else on the same level. Can’t have you developing your own ideas out here.”

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur threw the wad of paper towel into the bin then held up his shirt. The coffee didn’t look so much as faded.

“Someone may have an extra shirt. Gaius, perhaps,” Morgana supplied.

“Yeah,” Arthur wadded the shirt up and then had to unwad it so he wouldn’t tramp through the building shirtless. It was damp and stuck to his skin uncomfortably and really, if he was being perfectly honest, Arthur wanted to go to his flat in London and bury himself under the covers so he could sleep for a long while. But because he was a Pendragon he followed Morgana through the bathroom doors and back down to the DMM office.

It was then that he realized the coffee had reached his pants.

***

“Merlin,” Gwen leaned across the short distance between their desks and peered at her friend’s head buried in his arms. “Merlin, it’s not the end of the world.”

“I never said that,” Merlin’s voice emerged muffled. “I just said I want to go home.”

“Right,” Gwen retreated to her own desk and tapped at a binder with the eraser end of her pencil. “Maybe you should take a sick day,” she suggested.

“I’ve used mine all up,” Merlin’s voice came wretchedly. “And the rent’s due soon and finances are too tight to take a day off.”

“So you’re just going to feel sorry for yourself and not get things done,” Gwen changed tactics, her voice growing stern. “We still have that Belford project, you know. And I _will_ put my foot down if I end up doing all the work.”

“I’d never do that to you,” Merlin lifted his head enough to peek over his arms. Gwen did a Gaius impression, and he sighed and lifted his face completely.

“Better.” Gwen used her pencil to poke Merlin in the arm. “Drama queen.”

“Oh, good one, did you not hear him? Screaming like I’d stabbed him.”

“It was hot coffee, Merlin, I imagine that hurts.”

“Still—“ Merlin froze at the sound of approaching heels. “Shit.” He leapt from his desk and grabbed at his laptop and mobile. “Workinginthemeetingroom,” he threw in Gwen’s direction before disappearing through the door.

Gwen, her fingers caged over her mouth, lifted her eyebrows as the hall door swung open in tandem with the meeting room’s door swinging shut. Morgana and Arthur entered, the former looking wrung out and the latter looking put out. Gwen grabbed the t-shirt sitting on her desk.

“Here Arthur,” she stood and held it out. “We have a few of these lying around. Large, so it ought to fit.” Arthur blinked at her before accepting the t-shirt and unfolding it. It was a simple green cotton polo shirt with the Tyne and Wear DMM branch’s logo printed in the upper left corner. It smelled of cardboard and new fabric.

“Thank you,” he said. “It…looks very comfortable.”

“Yeah,” Gwen nodded, her arms crossing. “It’s not covered in coffee, see. So I thought it’d be an improvement.”

“Right!” Arthur nodded while Morgana coughed. “Er, yes, absolutely. Thank you Guinevere. Gwen. Erm, is there somewhere I could change?”

“The meet—“ Gwen covered her eyes briefly. “Gaius’ office. Go on, he shouldn’t be here for another half hour.” Gwen and Morgana watched Arthur hustle to the office, closing the door behind him with a little snap. Gwen huffed, sending several stray hairs flying. Morgana laughed outright.

Arthur emerged from Gaius’ office about three minutes later, adjusting the t-shirt that hung from his shoulders in a mildly awkward way.

“It’s not Armani, but it’ll do,” Morgana reviewed. She stood and gestured Arthur towards her small desk situated in the far corner of the room. “Alright, it’s been a fun morning but Gaius wanted me to give you an outline of your work here.”

“Right,” Arthur followed her, still tugging at the shirt.

***

Arthur couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d filed paperwork. This was secretary work. This was meant to be done by someone with an English degree and just out of uni. Not him.

He blew a stream of air from pursed lips and squinted at the packet in his hands. Above thick columns of numbers, a title pronounced the packet as druid population statistics in the Newcastle area from 2000 to 2005. He took a moment to study the figures, which had a much different look to them than the London statistics. In London, the druids were comprised of a rag-tag bunch of men and women, young and old, all nationalities and ethnicities heaped together in specific parts of town and making the local authorities highly watchful. They tended to be on the lower end of the income scale, since few employers wanted to deal with the legalities of hiring druids.

But here, Arthur found charts that seemed to indicate that a little under half of Newcastle druids had traditional families. That they had jobs and their children didn’t have quite the loathsome dropout rate he saw in London.

And despite what Morgana said, he did make a point of watching other branches and seeming what methods seemed to work or fail. He just wasn’t sure how Newcastle’s relevant success hadn’t reached him. Perhaps there was nothing _they_ were doing, it was just the nature of the druids further north.

Arthur finally set the packet in its proper pile and stretched himself painfully. He missed his office chair with its full back support.

He let his eyes wander over to Gwen as she texted something and then set her mobile down to peer furtively at the meeting room. Arthur followed her gaze and suddenly realized where Merlin had disappeared. He felt an unexpected swell in his throat and coughed back a laugh. Gwen turned her head, her eyebrows rising slightly. She suddenly leaned back, her arm slung over the head of her chair.

“I think he’s afraid you’re going to throttle him,” she stage whispered. Arthur hummed.

“Can’t imagine why,” he replied. Gwen looked like she was debating something in her head before she turned around completely, resting her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands.

“I’m sorry for this morning,” she said in a firm voice. “Merlin is, that is. I—“ she took a breath. “I know you’ve been to hell and back the last few days but Merlin’s a good friend and also a bit…ungraceful.”

“Clumsy,” Arthur clarified. Gwen gave him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher and nevertheless sent him a little shock of guilt. He thought that was unfair.

“See? Gwen agrees with me,” Morgana said vaguely from her desk. She had her hair pulled from her face in a simple ponytail, a clear indication that she was concentrating on something.

“Right. I get it. Merlin is a good bloke and also _ungraceful,_ and I should apologize for him single-handedly ruining my shirt and burning me,” Arthur leaned back and pressed a finger to his temple. He was about to open his mouth again when Gwen gave him that look again and Arthur suddenly interpreted it as _disappointed_. And that really—well, that was truly not fair. Especially not fair that a person he’d known for fewer than three hours was making him feel unaccountably bad about himself. Since when had he taken the opinion of strangers into such high accord?

Still, he heard himself open his mouth to say. “Sorry. No, you’re right. I won’t kill him, I promise.” And then, because he needed to save his dignity somehow, he tossed out, “Happy, Morgana?”

“Hm? Yeah,” Morgana flipped a few pages of the booklet she was reading and circled something. Gwen looked mildly pleased, which made Arthur pleased, and oh god, he really, honestly hoped he wasn’t falling for her because dating coworkers never went well.

“What are you working on?” he asked Morgana, snatching at her booklet. He couldn’t reach it from his angle, and she smacked at his hand lightly.

“Morgause Gorlois,” she said, then fell silent again.

“She gets a bit uncommunicative when she’s concentrating,” Gwen supplied.

“Should have seen her tackling her English essays,” Arthur nodded. “Wouldn’t speak for literally days. God, I loved it when she got essay assignments. Ow!” Rubbing his ear, he looked down at the eraser that had tumbled into his lap and ignored the giggle coming from Gwen’s direction. He went back to his work with a sharp swivel of his cheap chair and picked up what looked like a remnant of a 2002 report of an illegal summer solstice ritual.

***

Merlin had to suppress a jerk of his head whenever he heard Arthur’s rumbling voice as compared to Gwen and Morgana’s higher voices. He was garrisoned in the furthest corner of the meeting room, cross-legged one of the old plastic chairs with his laptop perched in his lap. He considered briefly how his mother or Will or Gaius might have reacted to his current position, but then distracted himself with answering emails.

Merlin had slogged through about ten of those when his pocket began to vibrate. He fished it out, then hurriedly pressed answer when he found Freya’s name on the screen.

“Freya, hey,” tucked the mobile between his ear and shoulder and opened a new word document to take notes. “Thanks for calling back.”

“Hello Merlin,” Freya’s gentle voice sounded slightly echoing, as if she was in a large empty room. “’fraid I’ll have to keep it short. I’m in York.”

“Thought you might be,” Merlin said. “Any luck with…what was it, backed up water pipes?”

“Yeah, we think something or someone’s making things difficult in the major distribution center,” Freya said in a voice tinged with weariness. “Big, complex spells, too. It’s taking me forever to sift through them.” Merlin felt a swell of pity for Freya.

The reason they had connected in the first place was a realization that both had the awkward, stressful position of being magical beings in the midst of a government department focused on limiting their kind. Freya almost had a more difficult time than Merlin; she had to deal with a shape-shifting curse that was only suppressed by strong potions she procured from unknown sources. When they’d been dating, they’d had more than one argument about that one.

Merlin listened to Freya put the phone aside to speak briefly to someone.

“Sorry,” Freya’s voice returned. “Okay, so you wanted to know about the merfolk report?”

“Yeah; Gwen and I thought there was something odd about the number of sightings this winter. A few hundred within a few weeks, that’s practically summer statistics. I wanted to ask since it’s in our neighborhood. Oh, and Gwen was speculating some connection to what you’re seeing in York and the well incident last year, but I can’t really vouch for that obviously.” He paused, his fingers poised over his keyboard. Several seconds passed. “Hello?”

“I’m here,” Freya said. Another several seconds. “Er, listen, I’m so sorry, I just got a summons from the DMM Director here. I—that is, do you want to meet up somewhere between Newcastle and York? We can talk.”

“I can drive there,” Merlin said, slowly closing his laptop and intertwining his fingers. “You’re busy enough. I could do with a day trip anyway. What day?”

“Friday?” Freya suggested, and Merlin definitely heard the note of relief. “Send me a text and we’ll find somewhere to meet for lunch.”

“Sounds good. I’ll let you go then.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

“See you.”

Merlin pulled his mobile from his ear and watched Freya hang up. He could feel an overactive imagination brewing up disaster after disaster for why Freya would want to be so secretive. Of course, she was used to hiding. Perhaps she was being overly cautious.

Merlin thrust the phone back into his pocket and opened his laptop again. He closed the empty word document and shot Gaius an email explaining his absence on Friday.

Around lunchtime, his mobile buzzed again, this time with a text from Gwen.

_You’re acting like a five-year-old_

Merlin exhaled slowly.

_This is true,_ he texted back.

_Stop it._

A second text followed almost immediately.

_I’ll get Gaius involved._

“Smith, you devil,” Merlin muttered.


	3. Chapter 3

Morgana flipped her laptop close with a small puff of air. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that she’d successfully wasted her morning searching for record of a sorceress who, it seemed, simply did not exist.

Meaning she did exist, but the name Morgause Gorlois was obviously a stage name, meant to make her sound more impressive than she actually was. An old name, reminiscent of past ages when magic had had a different role in the world.

“I’m heading out for some lunch,” Morgana stood up abruptly. “Anyone want to join? Arthur?”

“What?” her stepbrother looked up from his filing, his eyes slightly glazed. “Um, no, I’m not very hungry.”

“I’ll come,” Gwen grabbed her purse and went to a stand as Morgana tilted her head at her stepbrother. “Didn’t have time to pack lunch today.”

“Are you sure Arthur?” Morgana asked despite herself. “You didn’t have breakfast.”

“I probably could have if you had something worth eating,” Arthur replied, his voice flat. Morgana pressed her lips together and swung her coat off the back of her chair. If Arthur’s newest form of sulking was starving himself, she wasn’t about to interfere.

She and Gwen took a moment to wrap themselves up before heading out. Gwen greeted the secretary, Vivian, with a bright smile, undaunted as usual by Vivian’s lukewarm reply, before the two women pushed the front door open.

“Ohhh, lord,” Gwen exclaimed, hooking her arm through Morgana’s. “Let’s walk fast.” They hustled the block to the nearest café with decent food and entered the molten warmth with small sighs.

“Table,” Morgana pointed to a blond woman getting up and swinging her purse onto her shoulder. They swiftly claimed the small two-person tucked in the corner among the bustle of the lunchtime rush.

“My turn to order isn’t it?” Gwen asked, ruffling her hair after pulling her hat off. “Usual for you?”

“That’d be lovely,” Morgana hesitated. “Go ahead and order a half a turkey sandwich too, would you?”

Gwen gave her a knowing look and dove into the crowd. Morgana watched her depart with a smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. It was hard to believe she’d been working in this office for only two years. Already she’d made it her home; Gaius, Gwen, Merlin and the five policemen the DMM worked with a kind of surrogate family. It had been Gwen and Merlin who’d taken turns bringing her food and pain killers when she’d had surgery last year, they along with Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, and Lance who had gone bar hopping with her on her 28th birthday.

Still vaguely smiling, Morgana pulled out her mobile to check for texts.

The next moment, Morgana hitched a breath and set down the mobile carefully, letting her hands slide to grip the edge of the table.

Really, she silently scolded herself, she should have known better than to traipse into a café during the lunch rush. But the last few days had been so blissfully clean that she’d thought—she’d _hoped_ —that Gaius’ latest prescription was finally getting the job done. A small sound escaped her as the pressure in her head increased.

Relax. That was always the first thing the therapists and Gaius told her. Relax and let the seizure ride out. She leaned back in her chair, forced her hands into her lap, and closed her eyes as if she was tired and needed a power nap. She could hear the bustle of the café around her, but it was growing distant and vague, as if heard down a long tunnel.

New sounds met her, and new sights began to play across her mind’s eye. First snatches of sound and color, meaningless, but swiftly they solidified into something like a movie playing in her mind.

She stood in a tatty football field, Gwen glanced back at her, dressed in casual jeans and a sweatshirt. She grinned and snatched Morgana’s hand.

“They’re winning!” she screeched, “Come _on_!”

Another switch. Uther sat across a dinner table from her, cutting at what looked like fish. Her own voice echoed in her ears.

“I’m almost tempted to—“

And she was cut off by a thick roar. It vibrated her organs and made her head spin, and when she looked up she found Merlin reaching for her, his face livid with panic.

“The rift!” he called as if from a long distance. “It’s going to—“

A new scene. Only this time, Morgana had no sense of herself. All she saw was a woman with thick blond hair and brown eyes, her smile wide and gentle and eager.

“You’ll need this,” she spoke, and the voice cut straight to Morgana rather than drifting dreamily towards her. In the next moment, as if seeing a video on fast-forward, Morgana watched herself speed along a series of roads somewhere in the countryside. She halted before a small, old house before the sound and smell of the café crashed into her like a brick wall.

Morgana gasped, opening her eyes with a jerk. She looked around and was relieved to find that no one was sending her odd looks, which hopefully meant she hadn’t been speaking aloud. She did that sometimes, when the hallucinations felt too much like reality.

Morgana allowed herself several deep breaths before scooting her chair closer to the table and placing her hands flat on the surface. She stayed like that until she heard Gwen approaching.

“I told them to toast the sandwiches,” Gwen said, setting down two small basket trays and one paper bag. “I think we’re going to need it.”

“Definitely,” Morgana agreed, pulling her tray toward her and yanking the toothpick from her sandwich. “So what’s your verdict on Arthur so far? Because you’ve spent the last 18 months telling me I’m too hard on him.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too shaky.

Gwen tilted her chin up and opened her mouth, a smile curling the corners.

“I,” she said smartly, “will not pass judgment until I see him under normal circumstances.” She opened her bag of crisps and popped one into her mouth, raising her eyebrows at Morgana like a challenge.

“Stressed out and sulking and being an ass _are_ his normal circumstances,” Morgana pointed out. “Don’t worry, you and Merlin will finally understand me after a few weeks of him.” Instead of a witty retort, Gwen’s expression sank into something like concern.

“I hope he and Merlin don’t end up hating one another,” she said, leaning her elbow on the table. “It’s been so nice in the office and I hate conflict. Not that _you_ can’t…” she waved her hands. “I mean, you and Arthur have certain rights as siblings and at least I know you two care about one another at some level.”

“Some very deep level,” Morgana echoed.

“But I hate conflict that’s, you know, actual conflict,” Gwen continued. She made a face. “I’m such the little goody two shoes, aren’t I? I was the same way as a girl, always running around telling everyone to be nice.”

“No,” Morgana leaned forward. “No, of course not. No one wants to deal with conflict in their workspace. It’s annoying. Listen, I’m just having fun with Arthur. I’ll keep it out of the office, yeah?” Gwen still looked perturbed.

“I just, there’s this project and it has a deadline and I’m more or less responsible for it succeeding and…” she trailed off, rubbing at her forehead.

“Guinevere Smith,” Morgana said in a firm voice. “You are a smart, accomplished woman and you will blow this project out of the water. And you are more than allowed to snap at anyone giving you trouble about it.”

“That’s your job,” Gwen muttered, though still managing to look pleased.

“I am perfectly willing to share my position,” Morgana nodded.

And at that moment, between one blink and the next, she saw the house from her hallucinations. It hung in front of her mind’s eye like a remnant of a bad dream.

Morgana pointedly took another bite from her sandwich and felt herself sink to silence as she listened to Gwen expound on the Belford project, which happened a lot these days. Not that she minded. Gwen was predictably glowing when she talked about her work, and it gave Morgana an excuse to listen and nod more than talk.

***

Merlin remained frozen in the corner between Gaius’ door and the meeting room’s door. His stomach cramped at him, and his lunch remained stubbornly in the lower drawer of his desk. For a split, insane moment, Merlin considered levitating his lunch towards him before considering that of all magical acts to be thrown in jail for, that would be one of the more depressing.

He peered at the front door, wondering if Gwen and Morgana would be coming back soon.

“I’m not going to bite your head off,” Arthur spoke, and Merlin jerked his head.

“Seemed like you wanted to this morning,” he said after a moment. Arthur sighed and turned around in his chair, gesturing wryly to his green cotton Tyne and Wear DMM shirt. Merlin cleared his throat.

“Was the shirt worth more than my position too?” he asked.

“That was the shoes,” Arthur said. “The shirt was at least double.”

“Right,” Merlin cleared his throat again, aware of the pounding in his chest. “I was going to offer to pay the dry cleaning bill, but maybe now I’ll just give you a consolation card. We’re very sorry for your loss. Our thoughts and prayers are with you and your lost clothing.” Arthur’s face drifted into something that looked torn between amusement and annoyance. It was a bit fascinating.

“Do you script this stuff in advance?” he asked.

“Just my natural brilliance.”

Arthur didn’t reply for a long moment, then shook his head.

“You know what?” he announced. “This is fine. I just need to get used to it. I should have known I was in for it, seeing Morgana thrive here. Inexplicable druid statistics, freezing temperatures and all.”

“Right,” Merlin took a breath and sidled over to his desk, casually opening the lower drawer and extracting his lunch. Arthur watched him, his expression now definitely leaning towards amused.

“It’s not like I can fire you,” he said. Merlin paused.

“That’s true,” he admitted. “That’s very true. And I’m duly grateful for it.”

“You should be. You’d not have lasted ten minutes in my office.”

Merlin closed his eyes briefly and reminded himself that donkey ears were an expressly bad idea.

“I’d have walked out after five minutes,” he snapped, “because I’d never work for a man who’s such a self-absorbed prat.” With that he pushed his desk drawer closed and disappeared into the meeting room once more, feeling like he’d just poked a dragon in the eye.

***

Arthur stared blankly after the door when it slammed shut. He felt, vaguely, as if he should have been apologizing. Which was stupid. Because Merlin was definitely the one to have ruined his clothing and call him a…what was it? Prat?

Arthur released a lungful of air in a loud whoosh and slowly settled his forehead on his desk. He stared at the fuzzy image of fake wood grains, his eyelashes brushing the surface every time he blinked. He needed to stop the world for a bit, was what he needed. Let it pause so he could find a bed and cheap paperback and let his mind settle back into something resembling sanity.

He heard a door creak and for a split second thought it might be Merlin. He lifted his head and turned around to find Gaius’ door opening, his expression wry.

“I’m afraid it’s difficult to shift from branch director to humble staff member,” he said in far too knowing a voice, and Arthur was reminded of where Morgana had picked up that little trait.

“It’s not terrible,” he gestured to his stacks of papers. “I’m getting— _very_ acquainted with North East England’s magical community records.”

“Yes, that’s why I told Morgana to give you filing,” Gaius approached and pulled out Merlin’s abandoned chair to sit on. “I thought it very convenient, you see. You would benefit from the knowledge and Morgana would enjoy assigning you the task.”

“You’re as bad as the rest of them,” Arthur said, half-joking. Gaius only gave that fond smile that Arthur had secretly adored as a child.

“I’m sorry I haven’t had time to speak with you properly this morning,” Gaius said, and Arthur straightened.

“No, I know what it’s like. Always twenty people needing your attention for something.”

“Thankfully I don’t have quite that load,” Gaius remarked. “But I’ll admit the last few days have been trying. Still, you are now my responsibility and I intend to use every bit of your expertise. Today was about you seeing our region on paper. Soon I hope to get you out of the office. Monmouth may disagree, but our true work is out in the field, is it not?”

“Agreed,” Arthur nodded, thinking about a hundred and one assignments he’d had in the field: talking to people, listening to different voices, weaving it into a picture and understanding where the problems were. He’d missed it, after being appointed head of the London branch. Paperwork took up most of a branch head’s time. But now…now he was just a staff member, as Gaius had put it. That meant the dirty work, the work Arthur had fallen in love with in the first place.

“I’d need someone with time to drive with you, of course,” Gaius mused. “I’d already ruled out Morgana—“

“I appreciate that.”

“It wasn’t for you, boy,” Gaius harrumphed. “I wasn’t interested in two of my staff members murdering one another. Now, I’d have preferred Gwen. She grew up here and understands the land and people the best out of all of us. Not to mention she has the patience of a saint. But she’s working on the Belford project and I just may try that patience by asking her to give up a day playing tour guide.”

“So…” Arthur lifted his eyebrows hopefully. “It’ll be you?”

Gaius actually chuckled, which Arthur didn’t appreciate.

“I’m afraid not. As luck would have it, Merlin has work outside of the office Friday,” Gaius said, his eyes sparking.

“Gaius,” Arthur leaned forward and lowered his voice, his eyes darting towards the meeting room door. “He’s an idiot. And he hates me.”

“He’s far from an idiot, actually. But perhaps I’m wasting my breath for now.” Gaius leaned back and surveyed Arthur briefly. “It’ll be for the best,” he said abruptly, as if having just come to a decision. “A risk, perhaps, but if it works well, then a risk worth taking.”

“What?”

“Just an old man rambling,” Gaius waved his hand, and Arthur wondered briefly how often Gaius used the old man excuse to throw people off. “If you can, please separate yourself from this emotionally and treat it as business. You need to see what you’ll be working with and right now, Merlin’s the only convenient option to show it to you.”

“I—okay,” Arthur felt his shoulder slump. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” Gaius stood. “I’ll let Merlin know once he, er, emerges.”

“May be waiting a while,” Arthur muttered, shooting the door a frustrated look.

Before Gaius could answer, Gwen and Morgana returned from lunch and Arthur suddenly found a chilly paper bag in his hands.

“Eat before you faint from low blood pressure,” Morgana ordered, yanking her hat off. Arthur scowled at her, then found that the bag held a toasted turkey sandwich, and that a bag of crisps was also involved. He pondered the implications of one’s sworn enemy also knowing one’s favorite sandwich. It made things difficult.

In any case, by the time he looked up Gwen was discussing something about coffee machines with Gaius and he didn’t want to interrupt.

He ate his sandwich with enough visible begrudging to suit him, then filed more papers, until five o’clock came around and he and Morgana bundled up to tackle the five-minute walk to where Morgana was parked. While Merlin was presumably still brooding in his meeting room, Gwen bid them a good evening with a tired sort of pleasantness, and told Arthur to keep his chin up. He had to shake his head as he and Morgana left the building.

“Is she always that nice, or am I getting special treatment because I’m new?”

“Well she’s trying extra hard because of the druid disaster and you losing your job,” Morgana hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. “But yes, overall, she’s that nice. Elyan’s the same way.”

“Elyan her…brother?”

“Yeah. You’ll meet him at some point. And the other boys from the station; they join us for drinks every so often.”

“Sounds good,” Arthur tucked his hands in his pockets and released a small puff of silvery air at the way something in his heart had just dropped neatly into place. Which was odd. A vague invitation for drinks was hardly cause for warm feelings. Yet there it was, a sort of eagerness, and Morgana was watching him with a softness around her eyes he didn’t usually get to see.

“Do you like it here?” he asked. “This city. These people?” Morgana made a funny sound.

“Truth?” she said. “This place feels more like home than London or Uther’s place ever did.”

“That’s good,” Arthur said in a distant voice. “I—that’s good to hear.”

They didn’t speak until they got to the car, and only then so Arthur could insist they stop by the store on the way home to get some real food.

***

Gwen could tell she needed to call it a night when the print started blurring at her. Yet she’d not quite finished analyzing the report and she knew she’d regret it if she came in tomorrow with that still on her desk. She rubbed her eyes and wondered if she could convince Merlin to make her a cup of coffee. Perhaps the caffeine and terrible taste would keep her awake.

Gaius had already left, after a lengthy discussion with Merlin in the meeting room that had left Gaius looking like someone’s worn out grandfather.

Gwen stood with a small groan and twisted her back vigorously before approaching the meeting room’s door. She rapped smartly before opening it and finding it pitch dark except for the blue glow of Merlin’s laptop screen.

“That’s terrible for your eyes,” she chided as she flicked on the lights. Not that she stoutly believed it, but her father always used to tell her and Elyan that and it felt like an obligation to pass it along. Some token knowledge whose truthfulness didn’t matter as much as the fact that everyone had heard it and recited it to one another like a pass code.

Merlin blinked furiously and squinted at Gwen.

“What’s the time?” he asked.

“Past seven,” Gwen approached the coffee machine, eyeing it carefully. “Think it has juice for another cup?”

“Dunno,” Merlin said, and he regarded the machine with such far-removed weariness that Gwen decided to leave it.

Instead she hunted up the old electric kettle, filled it at the sink, and plugged it in to boil. Merlin watched her actions with bleary eyes.

“You all right?” she asked. “You’re staring.”

“Sorry,” Merlin blinked and shifted. Then he said, “I have to show Arthur around the area Friday.”

“Ah,” Gwen kept her expression carefully neutral. She didn’t try telling Merlin that it’d be fine, because if she was being perfectly honest, she wasn’t hugely impressed by Arthur’s attitude, druids notwithstanding. “You should get home and relax then,” she said instead.

“Yeah,” Merlin squinted at his screen as the water in the kettle began to bubble, and Gwen went to set the tea leaves up to steep. When she turned back around, she found Merlin with his head against the wall, one forearm across his eyes.

“Are you swooning?” she asked critically, and Merlin shook his head from beneath his forearm. “You are,” she pressed, “You’re swooning like a regency heroine.”

“I’m resting my eyes, since you seem to care about their well-being so much,” Merlin mumbled. “Not swooning.”

“My mistake then,” Gwen fished around for a decently clean mug and reminded herself, as she always did, that she needed to put up a sign reminding everyone to clean their mugs. Not that she’d necessarily follow it herself, but it may push her to do so one out of three times.

By the time she had her tea prepared, Merlin looked no more likely to be leaving his spot, and Gwen decided that if he wanted to sleep in the office, well, he was an adult.

“Night,” she called out as she closed the meeting room door again. Merlin grunted.

But in the end, he did emerge—about twenty minutes later—and bid Gwen a gloomy good night. He looked so much like a beat puppy that Gwen found herself taking pity on him.

“Merlin,” she called out as he slipped into his coat.

“Mm?”

“Saturday evening, you want to have a Doctor Who marathon?” Merlin cracked a grin, and for a split second Gwen remembered why she’d harbored a crush on him back in uni.

“No series six or seven,” he said.

“Boo,” Gwen stuck out her tongue. “Matt and Karen are perfectly lovely.”

“My heart belongs to Tennant,” Merlin said, clasping his hands over his chest, and Gwen released a long-suffering sigh.

“Then we’re watching my other favorite ginger,” she pointed at Merlin with her highlighter. “Series four. Be nice to Arthur. Try not to strangle each other.”

“Strangle?” Merlin opened the door. “That’s Morgana. From what I can tell, we’ll just insult each other’s cost of education and clothing lines.”

“Have fun then,” Gwen shook her head and heard Merlin laugh outright as he closed the door.

The office descended into muffled darkness, the only sounds the ticking of the wall clock and the sound of traffic outside. Gwen felt herself descend into that quiet place familiar to empty offices and houses where everyone else is asleep.

Gwen had finally landed on the last page of the report, more skimming than reading, when someone knocked at the door. Gwen jerked her head up, her heart launching to the back of her throat.

After a moment, she shook her head and stood up, peering through the frosted glass. She found a figure she thought might be a woman, judging by the voluminous smear up top. Perhaps Vivian, she thought.

Only the woman who stood on the other side of the door had brown hair rather than blond, and her face was attentive and shrewd rather than haughty. She took in Gwen with a cool, intellectual expression.

“May I help you?” Gwen asked, and she’d be lying in ten different directions if she claimed her heart wasn’t thudding against her ribcage. Because everything about this woman screamed power, and Gwen felt it at some deep, instinctive level. Perhaps the woman sensed this, because her expression deepened.

“This is the Department of Magical Management?” she asked, and her voice was clear, musical even. Gwen had never in her life thought she could describe a voice as musical.

“The placard says as much, yes,” Gwen nodded.

“I know it’s late,” the woman continued, “but I thought I could stop by in case there was an off chance someone was still here.”

“You’re in luck then,” Gwen straightened. “Though if it’s an emergency, I’m afraid that’s not quite our area. You’ll want to go to the police station.”

“No, nothing like that,” the woman shook her head. “I only hoped to speak to a Merlin Emerson.”

“Just missed him I’m afraid,” Gwen said. “You can catch him tomorrow.”

“Afraid I won’t have time,” the woman said, and she sounded neither frustrated nor disappointed. “Perhaps, though, you could give him this.” She withdrew a creamy envelope from her coat pocket and held it out to Gwen. Gwen accepted it after a heartbeat of hesitation. It felt cool and heavy in her hand, and Merlin’s name written in a deep blue on the front looked all but professionally done. It even held a wax seal, Gwen found. She looked up at the woman, squaring her shoulders.

“I’ll make sure it gets to him,” she said. “Is that all?”

“That’s all,” the woman agreed, and she was definitely smiling now. It wasn’t an evil smirk, per se, but it didn’t fill Gwen with confidence either. “Thank you.” She turned, elegant, graceful, and climbed back up the steps in swift, confident steps.

“Yes,” Gwen said at her, ineffectually. “Stay warm.”

She stepped back and closed the door, clutching the envelope. Then she turned and walked very slowly back to her desk, sinking into her chair with a shaky exhale. She tossed the envelope on her keyboard, somehow unwilling to touch it longer than needed.

“Guinevere Smith,” she spoke into the empty office. “Stop that right now. What was that? Nothing. Look at that logically. A woman stops by to give you an envelope to Merlin. Goodness sake, there wasn’t a single threatening thing she…” Gwen tapered off and stared down at the envelope sitting on her keyboard. She could still hear the blood roaring in her ears.

Gwen shut off her computer and stood up, dressing herself in her coat and scarf. Then she stuffed the envelope in her purse. She’d given it to Merlin herself, tomorrow.

Gwen then sat back in her chair and stared at Elyan’s number on her mobile screen. He was a police officer, for goodness sake, as well as her baby brother. If she had a legitimate reason to feel nervous, he’d hardly judge her for asking him to give her a ride home.

But then Gwen thought on the woman’s posture, the way she’d stood as if she dominated the area, as if she was the important one and Gwen nothing more than…a serving girl.

“Serving girl,” Gwen muttered to herself, stashing her phone back into her coat pocket. “Where on earth did you get that? Don’t think people really have servants anymore, Gwen. Personal assistants, they’d be called. Got to keep it politically correct.” She knew for sure she was nervous, if she was rambling to herself like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Still, she stood and swung her purse onto her shoulder and ignored the surges of adrenaline pumping through her. It would be insane to somehow think that the woman would be… _watching_. But if she was, in case Gwen wasn’t in fact insane, then the last thing Gwen wanted was to give her the satisfaction of thinking she’d won.

***

Merlin watched the metro stations dart past in a monotonous pattern, his head leaned up against the window and rolling with each bump in the track. He was fuming, yes, and he thought he had every right. He remained certain that if _he’d_ suggested sticking himself in a small space with Arthur all day, while on the way to speak with a _secretly magical DMM employee,_ Gaius would have cramped himself giving Merlin the eyebrow. But no, instead Merlin found himself trying to explain to Gaius what a terrible idea it was to be that close to Arthur Pendragon all day when Gaius seemed so intent on Merlin not giving any hints about his magical abilities.

“I just said that as a basic warning,” Gaius said, exasperation clear. “I didn’t think you were so incompetent as to perform magic in front of him. It’s no different than you and Morgana or you and Gwen driving to an assignment together.”

“Morgana and Gwen don’t hate me,” Merlin hissed, and Gaius had the gall to actually scoff.

“You are a grown man, Merlin, not a hormonal teenager. You have every control over your powers and besides, you two need to learn to coexist at some point. This is merely speeding up the process.” Gaius shook his head. “Morgana doesn’t have quite the knowledge of this area and Gwen doesn’t have the time.” Merlin sighed dramatically and crossed his arms.

“I can’t very well bring him along to talk to Freya,” he launched into a new argument.

“Yes, I admit that’s an issue,” Gaius confessed. “But there are plenty of ways for you to distract him for a few hours. Such as—“

“Knocking him out. Sticking him in a dumpster for a few hours. See how he likes what it does to his precious shirt,” Merlin muttered darkly.

“Such as telling him you have a meeting and he should explore the immediate area on his own,” Gaius spoke sharply. “Or give him something to research. Goodness knows I use that one on you lot all the time.”

“I—what?” Merlin straightened. “You get rid of us by making us research—you didn’t need to know anything about 14th century weather magic at all, did you? I spent two days on that!” Gaius didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish.

“And now, if we ever come across remnants of someone’s vintage weather spells, you will recognize them,” he said. “Please, Merlin, focus. I’m asking you to do your job. Part of your job is working with your coworkers, however much you may dislike them.”

“I don’t _dislike_ him,” Merlin argued. “He’s just a prat.” Gaius made a suspicious sounding cough.

“Pratness besides, I am ordering you to do this, Merlin, as your boss.”

Merlin released a long stream of air.

“Yes, fine,” he dragged out. “You’re horrible.”

“Thank you,” Gaius shot back, moving to a stand. “I’ll remember that next time I rush over to help you out of a tight spot.” Merlin hesitated, but by then Gaius had exited the room and Merlin had been left with an unneeded amount of riotous guilt.

The train gave a sudden lurch and Merlin yanked his head from the window before he brained himself.

The train slowed and the doors slid open as the station’s name crackled over the intercom. Merlin swung his bag over his head and stepped into a platform nearly as empty as his car had been. The few people waiting for the train boarded with quiet efficiency and soon became nothing more than a whoosh and tunneled echo.

The echo shaped itself into something that Merlin nearly took for his own name. But when he paused, the only sounds he identified were the echoes of his own movements and the distant thrum of traffic up the stairs. Still he stood, his senses alert, wary of the way his magic had suddenly sprung to just beneath his skin. It thrummed there, almost eager.

 _Merlin_.

It wasn’t a physical voice. It echoed in Merlin’s mind like one of his own thoughts narrated by a complete stranger. It sounded large and old and not really—not at all—safe.

Merlin suddenly felt his feet turn and jog up the steps, his heart pounding a little harder than he’d have admitted.

And he may or may not have caught a wisp of a thought, in the same ancient voice, _Well, I never claimed to be_ safe _._


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin, Morgana noted, took his seat as per usual the next morning, despite Arthur sitting all of two steps away. She took it as a good sign and glanced at Gwen to see if she approved. But Gwen was staring at something on her computer screen, her face blank. The woman was working herself too hard over the ridiculous project, Morgana decided, and went back to the survey she was writing.

The morning passed entirely uneventfully, which Morgana took as a blessing after yesterday’s fireworks. Arthur seemed determined to regard Merlin as nothing more than an annoying piece of décor and Merlin, in turn, stayed out of Arthur’s way. It was a truce, and a perfectly manageable one.

It allowed Morgana to finish her work a little after lunch, and she suddenly found herself in the delightful position of being allowed to do whatever she liked for the next four or five hours. Which meant, naturally, a road trip.

“Gaius,” she swung her head into his office and caught him with a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. “I’m thinking of heading to Alnwick. Is there anything you need me to do while I’m out?”

“Alnwick?” Gaius repeated, lowering his spoon. “What’s there?”

“Poltergeist in a cemetery,” Morgana replied, aware of how cheerful she sounded. “There’s a woman involved that I want to look in on. May be an unregistered sorceress.”

Gaius set his spoon down entirely and folded his hands on his desk, his face intent.

“What’s her name?” he asked, and the tone was enough to make Morgana close the door and enter the office properly.

“Morgause Gorlois,” she said. “A false name, probably, because I wasn’t able to find it in any records whatsoever…” she trailed off briefly. “What is it?”

“Nothing at all,” Gaius shrugged. “Interesting name. It’s an old and powerful one. It’s associated with the High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess—referred to as the Old Religion in some texts.”

“It’d make sense, if it’s someone wanting to sound impressive,” Morgana nodded.

“It was the name of Morgan Le Fay’s half-sister,” Gaius continued and Morgana tilted her head.

“The…witch from Arthurian legend, right?” She cracked a sudden smile. “God, do you remember how Arthur and I used to love that? Thought we had the cleverest parents ever. He won’t admit it, but I have photographic evidence that he was King Arthur at least three times for Halloween.”

“Yes,” Gaius smiled briefly. “Yes, I recall.” He seemed to hesitate before saying, “Just to indulge me, Morgana. Could you bring someone with you? I think the other three are busy, but perhaps one of our men with the police…”

“I’m not going to confront her or anything,” Morgana pointed out. Gaius sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead briefly before speaking.

“I know I don’t enforce this, Morgana, but it is in fact DMM protocol to have employees work in teams of at least two when magic may be involved in an assignment.”

“Yes,” Morgana drew out the word. Gaius watched her patiently, and she felt her shoulders notch down. “I’ll call around and see who I can rustle up.”

“Thank you,” Gaius sounded so genuine that Morgana felt bad for even her token resistance.

She left the office feeling a notch less excited than five minutes previous. She’d been expecting Alnwick to contain a straightforward question and answer with a few people, but if Gaius suspected actual danger…

As suspected, none of her colleagues had enough free time to “go traipsing off to some cemetery,” as Arthur so kindly put it.

“You’re going to get back at a reasonable hour, right?” Arthur demanded as Morgana tugged on her coat. “I haven’t got the metro or bus system down yet.”

“For god’s sake, you survived London’s, didn’t you?” Morgana scowled. “Look it up. Figure it out.” She was definitely going to drive straight home from Alnwick, just to teach him a lesson in whining.

“Have fun,” Gwen said, giving her a look, and Morgan adjusted from “definitely” to “possibly.”

Morgana sifted through her contact list as she stepped into the main lobby, trying to remember if anyone’s day off was today. Leon was out, as were Elyan and Percival, because she knew they had beats to cover this afternoon. Lance was as bad a workaholic as Gwen, which left one other person.

“Morgana,” Gwaine sounded pleasantly surprised when he answered. “What’s up?”

“A small proposition,” Morgana stepped into the cold. “How busy are you right now?”

***

Gwaine met Morgana at the parking garage ten minutes later, his cheeks red and his eyes bright.

“Alnwick, eh?” Gwaine joined her into the garage, his hands deep in his pockets. “Passed through there once. The castle was cool. Lovelypub over there. _Lovely_ server.”

“I’m sure you charmed all the ladies off their lovely feet,” Morgana supplied, pointing her keys at her car and unlocking it with a little beep.

“How’s Arthur doing, by the way?” Gwaine asked as they slipped into their seats and Morgana turned on the engine. “Leon’s got texts mentioning a spectacular coffee spill.”

“Merlin did that one,” Morgana said, twisting around to back out, and Gwaine released a full-on laugh.

“I’m buying him a drink next time we’re out!” he said. “Oh lord, how did Princess react?”

“Very predictably,” Morgana offered, driving out of the garage and swinging smoothly into traffic. “Small identity crises, nothing extreme. I didn’t realize you knew Arthur well enough to be laughing at this,” she said, flicking on the radio and searching for a station.

“Eh, I’ve met him a few times through Leon. Not the best impression, you know? Sort of…public school for my taste. Not that there’s anything wrong with public school,” he added swiftly, and it became Morgana’s turn to laugh.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls with rich daddy issues,” she teased, and Gwaine somehow managed to make his sheepish expression look suggestive. Morgana reminded herself that she needed to figure out how he did it.

But for now, her mood had buoyed back up, with the crisp blue sky and a cheerful Gwaine next to her. Gaius’ unease sank into the back of her mind, and she left it there.

***

Morgana and Gwaine drove into Alnwick within the hour, then spent another ten minutes searching for the church.

“You couldn’t have printed out directions?” Gwaine asked, squinting at a road atlas.

“Forgot,” Morgana slowed at an intersection. She leaned over to examine the map as well. “You don’t see a Howick Stree—gah!” A car behind them blared its horn and Morgana threw out a few choice words as she sped forward.

Eventually, they managed to find the designated church, which even had a cemetery, suggesting they were in the right place. Morgana parked in the all but empty lot and collected her files as Gwaine unbuckled. He was stretching and surveying the surrounding homes when she emerged from the car and locked it.

“Cute place,” he said. “I forgot the touristy element with the castle and all.”

“No sightseeing for us. We’re here about poltergeists, Gwaine,” Morgana checked her contact information again. “Possibly a rogue sorceress.”

“And people say public service is boring, eh?” Gwaine replied as they made their way towards the church. “Are we expected?”

“I called before I left,” Morgana said, and as if on cue a small side door opened to reveal a man in his mid-fifties, dressed in a puffy, green coat.

“Ms. Pendragon?” he asked, and stepped forward with his hand out. “Harold Ferguson. I’m the rector here.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Morgana replied, turning on her professional smile. “This is Gwaine Orkney. He’s with the police down in Newcastle.”

“Pleasure,” Harold shook Gwaine’s hand as well. “Though I’m sorry to have you two travel all the way up here. As I told your coworker, we seem to have driven out the poltergeist. At the very least, we haven’t seen anything for nearly a week.”

“Yes, I do understand that,” Morgana nodded. “But I wanted to do a check on the woman you hired to expel the spirit.”

Harold’s bushy eyebrows drifted towards his hairline. “Has there been a problem, Ms. Pendragon?”

“We hope not,” Morgana opened her file folder, even though she’d already nearly memorized everything inside it. “Perhaps you could briefly explain how you came in contact with Ms. Gorlois.”

“Ah,” Harold scratched his balding head. “Well I’d called your office just that morning when the woman—Gorlois, yes? Old-fashioned name, isn’t it?—Ms. Gorlois gave me a call and said she’d heard about our poltergeist and could get rid of it for a very reasonable price.” He shrugged. “And indeed. Very reasonable, no poltergeist any longer. Not problems to report.”

“Did she mention where she heard about the poltergeist?” Gwaine asked.

“Ah, I just figured she used her ears. Town like this, gossip of a trouble-making spirit were bound to reach her at some point.”

“Meaning she’s from Alnwick?”

“No proper idea, I’m afraid,” Harold shrugged. “I’d assume so.”

“And you paid in…?”

“Ah, she did in fact ask to be paid in cash,” Harold peered a little anxiously between Morgana and Gwaine. “It seemed harmless enough when she asked.”

“Of course,” Morgana pushed down the mild swell of disappointment. “Now, did you see her method?”

“Er, something with candles,” Harold shrugged, and Morgana swapped a single pointed look with Gwaine. “I mean, no magicky sounding chants or none,” the rector added quickly.

“But nothing…mechanical looking?” Gwaine asked. “No…um, it sort of looks like a vacuum?”

“I didn’t see it if it was there,” Harold shook his head. “Mainly candles. We weren’t close, mind, but watching from the church. Do you think she was magic folk?” He looked a little _too_ excited at the prospect.

“We can’t make any assumptions yet,” Morgana clicked her pen. “You said ‘we.’ Who else saw her working?”

“That would be Bill, but I’m afraid he’s out of town today. I can give you his number.”

Morgana took a moment to collect her patience again.

“That’d be lovely.”

“What do you think?” Gwaine asked as they made their way back to the car, after receiving the number and asking a few more questions.

“Why’re you asking me?” Morgana hedged. “You’re the policeman.”

“You’re the DMM worker,” Gwaine shrugged, slipping into his seat. “The last time I dealt with magic on a case was the necromancers.” He gave a convulsive shudder at the word, and Morgana couldn’t blame him.

“With those candles, I’m going to say it was sorcery, and unregistered at that. What I don’t like is that it was all so…underhand,” she turned on the engine. “No address, payment in cash.”

“Least we have a description?” Gwaine offered hopefully, and Morgana remained silent as she pulled into the road. Because the last thing she needed to mention was that the “brown eyes, lots of blond hair, young and pretty, but I wouldn’t want to mess with her. She looked _shrewd_. Real smart” reminded her intently of the hallucination she’d experienced the day before.

Perhaps the fact that said hallucination was on her mind was the reason Morgana slowed at an intersection near the edge of the village and frowned at the road so intently that Gwaine asked if she was cramping.

“No I—what? No, no I’m not.” Morgana lurched the car forward, trying to relax her grip on the wheel. Because she’d never been here before in her life and the road should not look familiar, should not resemble her hallucinations. It just…shouldn’t.

“You sure?” Gwaine asked. “It looked like you needed a dose of U-No-Poo.” He laughed aloud, then paused. “You know, Harry Potter?”

“Yes, Gwaine, I have read Harry Potter,” Morgana peered at the road, which looked completely unfamiliar again. She felt herself relax. “I didn’t realize you’d read them.”

“Merlin told me I had to, otherwise I couldn’t be his friend,” Gwaine shrugged. “He was dead serious about it, too.” Morgana snorted, partly because that was such a Merlin thing to do _._

“So are we calling it quits?” Gwaine leaned back in his seat, his hair falling over his eyes slightly as he tilted his head in Morgana’s direction. “It seems a shame after driving all the way out here.”

Morgana pulled over on the side of the road (still unfamiliar, which was good) and bit her lip. They sat in companionable, thoughtful silence for a moment, two cars whooshing past them.

“You know how in period mystery dramas, the detectives go to the local pub and find a lead?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“Does that actually work?”

“Aye.” Gwaine said, his voice solemn. “It’s the golden bullet in any decent detective’s arsenal.”

“But I have to drive back, don’t I?” Morgana scrunched her nose.

“Just one drink isn’t going to render you incapable.”

“That’s true,” Morgana mused. She shifted her car back into drive. “We’re going to the pub. You know where we can find one?”

“Forward, my lady,” Gwaine straightened, looking a little too much like a boy on his way to the toy store. Morgana pulled into the road, pushing aside the (oddly Gaius-sounding) voice asking her if this was really the most professional way to be doing things.

But damn it, she’d just been described a woman and seen a road that echoed a _hallucination_. She’d be as unprofessional as she pleased. Last time this sort of thing had happened, she’d needed to get wasted to properly drown it out.

***

Gwen hated the envelope at this point. Hated. It. It seemed to burn at her from her coat pocket, draped as it was over the back of her chair. The result was a plummet in her productivity, which in turn did absolutely nothing for her mood.

“Merlin, I’ve told you, those headphones are crap. I can hear everything,” she snapped a little after Morgana had left. Merlin tapped at his keyboard to turn the volume down and sank a little further towards his screen.

“Sorry,” he mouthed, and Gwen, naturally, felt a bubble of guilt. She sensed more than saw Arthur watching her out of the corner of his eye and retaliated by typing with greater fervor. She was going to disengage the wobbling L key at this rate.

What she wanted, she decided, was for Arthur to conveniently leave the room so she could turn to Merlin and allow herself a mild breakdown at the sheer weirdness of the last 24 hours. Which, granted, was perhaps an overreaction to a woman asking her to deliver an envelope to her coworker. But then there was also the sense of wrongness coating everything about the situation. It left a bad taste in Gwen’s mouth.

But Arthur remained hunched over his desk for the rest of the day in an increasingly infuriating display of workmanship. (He’d plowed his way through three boxes of unfiled papers already, and if Gwen hadn’t been in such an odd mood, she’d have been singing his praises at this point.) So for about four hours more Gwen jabbed harder and harder at her computer until she caught Merlin watching her with a crease between his eyebrows. She pretended she hadn’t seen him, but her intensity slackened.

Around 5:30, Arthur pulled a buzzing mobile from his pocket, read a text, swore vehemently, and left the office without saying goodbye.

“Ok,” Merlin turned around in his seat almost before the door snipped shut. “What happened? Do I need to go beat up anyone?”

Gwen laughed out of sheer nerves and a bit of delight, because the mental image of lanky Merlin beating up anyone was funnier than it really should have been.

“God, no,” she assured him.

“You sure? I can do some damage,” Merlin pressed. Gwen exhaled carefully and leaned forward, the smile drifting from her face.

“Listen, I’m sorry I—I mean those headphones are in fact utter crap but I shouldn’t have snapped—“ she shook her head, working to get her thoughts in order. “What I’m trying to say is something very weird happened last night.”

Merlin listened intently, his face slipping into something unreadable as Gwen pulled out the envelope and explained the woman who’d given it to her. When she finished, she watched Merlin look away, his fingers caging over his mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” she said after nearly a minute, her voice low and clear, “and I want to take it to Lance and let him run some tests on it. The last thing we need is a magical attack.”

“It’s not magical,” he muttered, and Gwen tilted her head.

“How would you know?” she asked.

“What did the woman look like?” he asked, and Gwen leaned back in her chair to recall.

“Fairly young, maybe a few years older than us. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Very pale. Very…elegant.” She glanced over at Merlin, wondering if it could be someone he knew. A wrathful ex-girlfriend, perhaps, though Gwen was fairly certain she’d have remembered such a woman in the ten odd years she and Merlin had known each other.

“So…thoughts?” she pressed. “I know it’s your envelope technically but I’m also your friend and I know I sound crazy but—“

“You’re not crazy.”

“What?”

Merlin stirred and looked at her, his expression grim. “We work every day to keep magic under control. A strange woman hands you a sealed envelope and gives you a weird feeling? That’s not crazy at all, Gwen, that’s you following your instincts.”

“Yes,” Gwen drew herself up. “In fact, that’s exactly what it is. Which is why we’re going to Lance right now.” Merlin didn’t respond. “Right now,” Gwen reiterated, and Merlin sagged a little.

“You’re right,” he nodded, standing abruptly. “Ok. Let’s go.”

Gwen glanced at Gaius’ office as Merlin tugged on gloves.

“Think we ought to tell Gaius?” she asked, and Merlin paused.

“He’s busy with Monday night’s case,” he said. “We won’t bother him unless it becomes something significant.”

Gwen led them out of the office and up the steps, where they found Vivian getting ready to leave.

“Have a good night, Vivian,” Gwen called out, more out of habit than anything else. Vivian though, instead of waving vaguely as she tended to do, perked up and leaned over the desk.

“Hey!” she grinned. “Can I ask something?”

“We’re in a bit of a—“

“All of two seconds,” Vivian insisted. “You lot got a new employee, yeah?”

“Er, yeah,” Merlin supplied. “Transferred from the London branch. After the druids.”

“Oh,” Vivian blinked. Then, “He got a name?”

Merlin and Gwen exchanged glances.

“Arthur,” Gwen finally supplied. “Arthur Pendragon. Don’t go asking me to find a number to give you, though.”

Vivian giggled. 

“Silly, it’s no fun unless I get it myself,” she said. “Have a good night you two.”

“You too,” Gwen replied and had to bite her lip until she and Merlin had left the building and taken a good ten steps from the front door. Merlin cracked first, giggling like a schoolboy.

“That,” he gasped, “is going to be amazing to watch. Amazing.”

“They’d have incredibly blond babies,” Gwen choked out. “Oh, we should take bets!” Merlin began wheezing.

“All right, all right,” he waved his hand at Gwen. “We’re going to say fifty if blonde babies get made. Eleven for a marriage. Five for…”

“For at least five dates, eight if shagging is involved,” Gwen supplied. “Morgana can be our informant.”

“We’re _terrible_ ,” Merlin shook his head, and if Gwen’s side hadn’t been hurting so much, she’d have agreed.

Instead, they arrived at Lance’s building with aching cheeks and proneness to giggling. The desk attendant gave them several odd looks until Lance arrived to sign them in, at which point Gwen toned herself down with some effort.

“Something I miss?” Lance asked as he signed his name on the clipboard and handed Merlin and Gwen each a pass. Merlin coughed out another laugh.

“Gwen and I acting like we’re fourteen, no big deal,” he said, and Lance raised his eyebrows at him slightly.

“We have another Arthur story for next time the group gets together,” Gwen explained as Lance led them to his office, set up down the hall from the forensics laboratory. “I think they’re just getting better.”

“Is that so?” Lance pushed open his office door. “I’ve already heard about the coffee.”

The office was tidy and clean, almost homey with the inclusion of a small couch and bookshelf containing forensics and magic textbooks with cheap paperbacks wedged in between. Lance and Gwen had once spent an entire day discussing Nora Roberts and the relative pains of attaining a degree in Magic Policy while they waited on results for a case she was in charge of assisting. It had been…very, very pleasant. Now, Lance perched himself on his desk and looked between Gwen and Merlin.

“Is this about the Harris case?” he asked. “Because Leon should have sent Gaius—“

“No something else,” Gwen cut in. “A bit odd. Private matter.” Lance tilted his head, attentive and curious as Gwen explained last night once more. Unlike Merlin, he didn’t look too deeply perturbed.

“So you want me to make sure it’s not going to explode when you open it?” he asked, and Gwen wondered how he suddenly made it sound so improbable.

“I don’t know,” she exchanged glances with Merlin. “It’s just…could you do it to make me feel better?”

“Me too,” Merlin added. “I’m not sure how I feel about a mysterious woman and her mysterious envelope.”

“Yes, definitely,” Lance nodded, and held out his hand. “May I see it?”

Gwen tugged the envelope from her pocket and was surprised to find it still cold, even after they’d been standing in the heated building for nearly ten minutes.

Lance examined the thick, creamy paper after she handed it to him. He was silent for a minute, then rounded his desk to sit and flick on a lamp. Merlin and Gwen sat in his extra chairs, leaning over the desk to get a better look.

“Nothing obvious about the stationary,” Lance finally said. He tapped the red wax seal, the pattern unknown to Gwen. “Don’t suppose this rings any bells, Merlin? It’s not any magical sigil, at least none that I’ve seen. But I’d like to run it through a database to be sure.”

“Never seen it,” Merlin shook his head. He pulled out his phone. “I’m going to take a picture and see if it’s in any of Gaius’ textbooks.”

“Right,” Lance scrutinized the seal again as Merlin snapped a picture. “I’m going to run this by a few basic tests then. Afraid I won’t have results until Monday or so. We have about ten different things going on right now, and my boss wouldn’t be amused by me slipping in something like this.”

Beside Gwen, Merlin shuddered visibly. “No, you stay on his good side, you brave man you,” he insisted. “Thanks loads.”

“Yes, thank you,” Gwen added, and she may possibly have thought Lance gave her a small, warm smile. “We’re probably going to get dinner after this,” she added, glancing over to Merlin. “Do you finish up soon?”

“Ah, I’ve got the late shift today,” Lance apologized. “But give me a rain date, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gwen repeated, smiling. Lance smiled back. Merlin coughed pointedly, and Gwen kicked his shin, still smiling.

“You were wearing _boots,_ ” Merlin hissed several minutes later as they left the station. “Like, heavy winter boots. I have a bruise.”

“Stop crying,” Gwen shoved the door open and ducked her chin into her scarf at the blast of cold. “You’re my consolation date tonight. We’re going to that little place by the hair salon.”

She had to wait about thirty seconds before Merlin spoke.

“The one with the little bread thingies?”

“Yes, Merlin. The one with the little bread thingies.”

Merlin nodded beside her.

“Fair enough.”


	5. Chapter 5

Thursday, Arthur found, passed in much the same way Wednesday had: awkwardly. Because, he’d found, it _was_ awkward—and overall unpleasant—to spend two days filing paperwork in the same room as a) one’s evil stepsister, b) the idiot who apparently thought _you_ were the idiot and c) the woman you could tell didn’t particularly like you but who was too polite to say it outright.

It was depressing and frustrating and Arthur’s back hurt from his cheap chair and Gaius wasn’t around nearly enough to stave off Morgana and really, once Friday morning rolled around, Arthur was almost relieved to realize he had his little bonding trip with Merlin. Because at least Merlin wasn’t a write-up of someone’s illegal goat sacrifice from 2002.

At least, Arthur considered when he and Morgana entered the office, Merlin would be as miserable as him. They could feed off one another’s misery and create a miasma of misery that might hopefully extend to Morgana at the end of the day. Then she could increase it exponentially—she’d gotten truly sloshed last night and overtly abandoned him, so she deserved it—and then siphon it to the entire Tyne and Wear DMM office. Gaius would be so exasperated by the whole thing he’d convince Uther to reinstate Arthur in his nice, large office with the view and chair that offered lumbar support.

It was, Arthur considered, entirely possible that he’d missed his caffeine that morning.

“Don’t try to fight it,” Gwen warned him when he asked whether the office had a coffee machine. “It’s evil. Just buy something from the café down the street.”

“Merlin’s going to be here any minute, and he’ll want to leave as soon as possible,” Morgana warned in a croaking voice from her desk as she waited for her computer to boot up.

“Quit being an ass,” he shot at her. “It’s not my fault if you’re hung over.” She gave him a two-fingered salute.

“Merlin does actually like to be on time,” Gwen said gently. Arthur hesitated, then sighed.

“I’m sure a few good shakes will sort it out,” he told Gwen, ambling towards the meeting room. He realized she was following him, and she raised her eyebrows unapologetically when he glanced back.

“It’s your first battle. If you can make it work,” she said with utter sincerity, “I will be duly amazed.”

“Duly noted,” Arthur nodded. He approached the coffee machine with a small amount of wariness. Gwen watched like a spectator at a gladiator fight.

The coffee machine gurgled.

It ended up five minutes later with him shaking the machine like he hoped to give it a concussion and Gwen laughing into the table behind him.

“Hel…hello?”

“Oh, god,” Gwen choked out. “Hi Merlin.” She descended into giggles before speaking again. “We have another victim.” Arthur froze, then very carefully set the coffee machine down. He turned around to find Gwen’s head buried in her arms, her shoulders shaking, and Merlin looking like he’d just stepped into a madhouse.

“I don’t see what was so funny,” Arthur told Gwen, stepping away from the machine. “I heard _you_ calling it Lucifer’s spawn yesterday.”

“I know, I know,” Gwen waved her hand, her eyes sparkling. “But I think I saw an attempted headlock.”

Merlin snorted and abruptly left the room. Arthur took a moment to inhale and exhale before striding past Gwen and towards the door.

“Arthur,” Gwen said through a laugh. “C’mon, it’s just funny because we’ve all said the most ridiculous things—Arthur?” But Arthur wasn’t looking at her because he was pissed at everything and embarrassed and didn’t want her to see the red flush creeping across his face and neck. “Arthur, I’m sorry,” Gwen said, standing, her voice suddenly straightforward. He ignored her, grabbing his coat and bag and stalking towards the front door.

“I’ll be in the lobby,” he snapped at Merlin, who stared at him from over the mess of his desk, before wrenching open and slamming shut the door with as much petulance as he could manage. He felt like he was eleven years old again.

He paced the lobby a few times before collapsing into one of the sagging leather couches and staring at the ceiling, wondering once again how his life had reached this point.

“That bad?”

Arthur jerked his head up and found the blond secretary who’d been giving him glances the past few days. She examined him over the top of a sheaf of papers, her smile wry. It was the kind of smile that probably belonged on magazine covers.

“A bit,” he felt himself shifting position.

“They’re a little funny,” the secretary leaned forward, tilting her head towards the DMM office. “Dealing with magic all day, I suppose.” Before Arthur could open his mouth she added, “So you’re the new bloke from London?”

“I—yes,” Arthur waited for her to ask something about the druids, but instead she laughed as if it was the most delightful news she’d heard all day and began toying with a strand of hair.

“God, you poor man,” she said. “Newcastle must seem so droll in comparison.”

Here was the funny thing: Arthur, technically, should have agreed and then given a list of examples. He did, honestly, feel that way. Newcastle was not London, and he missed London terribly.

But instead he said, “It’s not so bad. My best mate lives here.” He blinked at that, he had to admit. Leon was great and everything but…what?

“Oh that _is_ nice,” the secretary nodded, still smiling brilliantly. “Does he work here?”

“Er, no. He’s a police officer.”

“Really?” she brightened. “I may know him. They come in here all the time to do business.”

“Maybe. He looks like Sean Bean’s Boromir met a crimping iron. Tall. Scruffy beard thing going on?” Arthur suggested, waving his hands around his head in demonstration. It took him a moment to realize he probably looked ridiculous.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes, I totally know him!” the woman nodded, unperturbed. “Has he shown you around town? Taken you the nightclubs yet? You must’ve heard that Newcastle has that much going on.”

“Ah, no,” Arthur admitted, wondering whether the secretary had, in fact, ever seen Leon in her life. Because Leon was many things, but night clubber was not one of them.

“Shame,” the secretary pouted ever so slightly, and Arthur all but saw her cast the hook. “It’s a good scene. You need someone to take you this weekend. Any of them likely?” She gestured towards the DMM office door.

Arthur had a brief, horrible image of Merlin in fishnets and glow sticks. Then he wondered, a little faintly, where on earth he’d gotten _that_.

(Oh good lord in heaven he needed caffeine.)

“Morgana, maybe,” he blurted. “Um, Gwen doesn’t seem quite the type. But you never know. The nice ones can surprise you. Sometimes.”

“No, you’re definitely right,” the secretary nodded, and her expression had shifted ever so slightly, thought Arthur could quite identify how.

“I don’t know if I’d—I mean she’s my stepsister and we don’t get along so…well.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe you’d like to show me around,” he said, and the secretary blushed very prettily indeed.

“Usually I ask people’s names before agreeing to go gadding about town with them,” she said, and her voice had gone soft.

“Ahh…I uh…Ar-Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur managed.

“Vivian. Vivian Vallie. I know, alliterating name. It’s adorable,” she rolled her eyes and laughed slightly.

“I think it’s lovely.”

Vivian smiled again, her teeth incredibly white. She then scribbled something on the back of a business card and held it up with two fingers while Arthur stood to retrieve it.

“Tonight or tomorrow,” she said as he plucked it from her. “Let me know.”

The DMM office door opened at that moment, and Merlin emerged. He glanced up, froze, and then turned around to dive into the office again. Arthur frowned, tucking the card into his pocket. Something that sounded suspiciously like a chorus of shouts and squealing drifted through the door.

“You may be right,” he said half to Vivian, half to himself. “They are a bit funny.”

Whatever she’d been about to say in response was drowned out when Merlin reemerged, pointing wildly at someone behind him with a coffee mug.

“No, but fifty for—yes, that’s what I said, fifty. You have that down? Swear to me because—yeah, alright, alright, just don’t need you two cheating behind my—“

“Get out of here, you’re going to need all day!” Gwen’s voice called out, and Merlin laughed as he ducked a flying eraser. He let the door swing shut behind him and jogged up the steps, his bag thumping against him.

“Morning Vivian,” he almost sang. Arthur resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Instead he maturely said, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Vivian,” and followed Merlin out the front door as she wriggled his fingers at him.

“What species of freak _are_ you?” he spat at Merlin as soon as they’d stepped outside.

“Careful, now,” Merlin said, though the smile on his face had not dimmed even a little. “Do not insult He Who Wields the Caffeine.” He held up two chipped mugs, both steaming. Arthur looked at the mugs carefully, then shifted his eyes to Merlin.

“How?” he asked suspiciously.

Merlin hesitated a split second. “Magic,” he said, and the smile shifted in tone. “Here, hold this.”

Arthur accepted a mug and took a sip as Merlin stopped before a banged up, green car whose better days had seen better days. Arthur was about to point this out, only then he tasted the coffee and all but spit it out cartoon style.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he held the mug at arm’s length, in case it became sentient and tried to crawl out, because with that taste and born of that machine, he’d not be too surprised. Merlin unlocked the car and slipped behind the wheel, leaving Arthur on the pavement with his piss-coffee. “Fuck,” Arthur repeated, because there was nothing else to say. 

“It’ll put hair on your chest,” Merlin encouraged. “Get in, I didn’t pay the meter.”

Still shaking his head, Arthur rounded the front to get into the passenger seat. He stuck the mug in a sticky cup holder and placed his hands flat on his thighs. Beside him, Merlin slurped from his own mug with downright indecency.

“I’m buying a new coffee machine,” Arthur announced as Merlin stuck the mug in its own cup holder and turned on the engine. “It’ll be my house warming gift to the office. _God_.”

“How public-minded of you,” Merlin glanced over his shoulder before merging with traffic. “See, Morgana was the only money-bags until now, and she always betrayed us to get Starbucks or some such.” He tilted his head towards Arthur. “I can see you becoming a valuable member of the team, Pendragon.”

“Piss off,” Arthur slumped in his seat.

***

Gwen would have been giving him half-amused, half-disapproving glances, Morgana would have been laughing, and Gaius would have rolled his eyes. Merlin swore, he’d had every intention of taking it easy on Arthur.

Only then the coffee machine and Vivian and Arthur’s _face_. Really, if he wanted to be honest, having Arthur in the office was hilarious. He’d have Gwaine in stitches when he saw him again.

Still, Merlin tried to tell himself sternly, there was a time and place. So as they made their way toward the A19, Merlin schooled his expression into something more mature.

“So,” he glanced in Arthur’s direction, where he found the man still slumped, “anything you specifically need to see today?”

Arthur waved a vague hand. “Gaius said you’d show me the highlights.” He pulled out of his slouch somewhat. “You had a meeting?”

“Yes, and she’s very kindly agreed to meet me in Durham in an hour, so we have the rest of the day open,” Merlin said.

It hadn’t been easy, either.

“Arthur Pendragon?” Freya had hissed when Merlin had called her the night before. “Merlin, I can’t—this isn’t the kind of thing he needs to hear.”

“He won’t be there,” Merlin had insisted, pacing his kitchen and nearly breaking his neck when the cat got under his feet.

He’d been met with brooding silence from Freya as he scowled and nudged George—a black-furred, uptight little stray he’d somehow garnered from Will—toward the living room.

“I’m serious, Merlin. I don’t need Uther’s people breathing down my neck about this. Not yet,” she finally said.

“I get it, I really do,” Merlin insisted as George stalked away with a flick of his tail. “And Arthur’s not going to be there. For all he knows this is a perfectly boring meeting about…zoning issues.”

“All right,” Freya said after a long moment. “If you swear.”

“I’ll buy her lunch to say thanks,” Arthur now said vaguely, watching the traffic through his window. Merlin cleared his throat, because he may or may not have actually come up with an idea for getting rid of Arthur for an hour.

“You probably won’t want to be there,” he said carefully. “Pretty boring details for a zoning project. All over your head.”

“I did in fact run the largest DMM branch in the nation,” Arthur replied, still not looking at him. “I know you lot like to pretend I’m an idiot who can’t find my own arse, but I do know my way around this kind of thing.”

Except for properly working with druids, Merlin wanted to add, but didn’t, because there was something in Arthur’s voice that prevented it. Something stressed and sad and bitter.

“I just think you could spend the time more productively,” Merlin said, notching his voice softer. And then, beautiful inspiration. “I know,” he turned onto the A19. “Durham University Library is near where we’re headed. They’ve got a good collection of the older, local accounts of magical creatures and events in North East England.” Arthur was watching him out of the corner of his eye, and Merlin couldn’t for the life of him tell whether it was out of curiosity or incredulousness. “So,” he pressed forward, “It’d give you a good cultural perspective. You know, about what people think about magic. Its impact on their lives.”

He waited for what felt like a short eternity before Arthur spoke.

“I always disliked the research part of this job,” he said. He huffed a laugh, his mouth curling into a smile. “That sounds like the kind of assignment Gaius would suggest.”

“He once had me spend two days researching old weather magic for no apparent reason,” Merlin offered. He didn’t include that he’d conjured a small rainstorm in the empty office out of sheer boredom at one point. Not even Gaius knew about that one.

“Well, there’s usually a reason,” Arthur shrugged. “Yeah, all right. I’ll let you get on with your deeply advanced meeting.”

“It’s nothing to do with our region,” Merlin hastened. “Just someone else’s project. Again, it’d be totally a waste of your time.”

“I said I’d go to the library. Don’t get your pants in a twist, _Mer_ lin.”

And Merlin’s breath hitched. Which was odd. He shot a look at Arthur, but he’d gone back to staring at cars. The blond hair and the posture and the way of tapping his fingers…well of course he’d seen it before. He’d been in the same room as Arthur for the last two days. Merlin sped up, cleared his throat.

“So, has Morgana told you about the time we broke up a ring of necromancers?” he asked.

***

Gwen wondered whether Morgana had been in this kind of mood yesterday and she just hadn’t noticed. She wouldn’t have been surprised: it was amazing how much more relaxed Gwen felt knowing that the envelope was safely in a lab designed to deal with dangerous magical items. Not that they had a lick of proof that the envelope was either magical or dangerous, but it was the principle of the matter.

Now, answering the emails she’d let pile up, Gwen found herself shooting glances toward Morgana’s back. She could spot a hangover easily enough, but Gwen couldn’t imagine why it was happening on a Friday morning. Morgana kept herself quite sober during the workweek; in fact was adamant about it.

She let it go into the late morning, until she glanced over for the umpteenth time and realized suddenly that Morgana was staring at her desk, one hand buried in her loose, black hair. Gwen stopped typing.

“Hey,” she said, and Morgana flinched. Her expression grew grimly wry when she caught sight of Gwen’s face.

“No one died,” she said, and Gwen twisted around in her chair so she could face Morgana better.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I wasn’t at all,” Gwen insisted. Morgana did this sometimes, throwing out inane comments to avoid the actual issue. It was especially frequent after visits to Uther in London. So Gwen settled down and stared at Morgana as she rubbed at her forehead with one hand.

“I had a crappy evening,” she said. “It’s nothing at all.”

“If you say so,” Gwen shrugged. “That’s fine. I’m here if you want to claim otherwise.” Morgana let her hand fall.

“The hallucinations are getting worse,” she muttered to the table. Gwen straightened slowly.

“When?” she asked. Morgana shook her head.

“One happened Tuesday at lunch. Then yesterday again, after I got home. I—“ she fell silent.

_Sod it_ , Gwen thought a little viscously, and stood to stride over to Morgana, who was still staring blankly at the table.

“Hey,” she leaned down and placed her hand under Morgana’s chin. She tilted Morgana’s face up just so, and the expression she received was too reminiscent of the first time Morgana had explained her nightmares, and then her nightmares-turned-hallucinations. Fearful. Angry. Desperate. Gwen’s chest nearly burst.

“What if it comes when I’m driving?” Morgana asked in a bare whisper. “It could kill someone.” Gwen moved her hand to grip Morgana’s shoulder.

“We work to eliminate that chance,” she said in what she hoped was a clear, firm voice. “We talk to Gaius. Get him to find a better way to manage them.” She glanced at the closed office door and tried to remember whether or not he’d left.

“I have no idea whether or not he can do it,” Morgana shook her head. “His draughts have stopped working.”

Gwen sighed through pursed lips, wishing yet again that she had something….well, something. Something more than a degree in Magical Policy. Something more than a listening ear and soothing words.

“Will you speak to him please?” she asked Morgana. “Today?” Morgana glanced to the side.

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe it’ll go away on its own.” Not that her tone of voice offered a shred of confidence in that happening. The women sat in silence for a moment before Morgana shifted her shoulder and Gwen’s hand fell away. “Just let me think about it,” Morgana said. “It’s not—I’ll try to be careful.”

Gwen hesitated, aware of about thirty different things she could say. She then swooped down and captured Morgana in a tight hug, burying her nose in Morgana’s shoulder and thick, dark hair. Morgana stiffened for a moment before bringing her arms up to return the embrace.

They parted after a moment, Gwen working to squash the sinking feeling in her chest.

“I was going to run over to the City Hall to pick up some files,” she said in a brisk voice. “Interested in coming with?”

“I have this survey to finalize,” Morgana gestured to her computer screen. “Gaius will have my neck if I don’t have it ready to go for Monday’s meeting.”

“Yeah,” Gwen half-smiled, then patted Morgana’s arm and retreated to her own desk. But the text on her screen seemed suddenly to make no sense at all, so after five minutes she slipped on her coat and shoved her hands into her gloves.

“Positive?” she asked Morgana before leaving, and her coworker promised that Gaius _would_ literally have her neck.

After greeting a slightly frosty Vivian, Gwen emerged onto the pavement to discover light flakes of snow floating down from an iron grey sky.

“Hope it doesn’t mean ice tonight,” she muttered to herself, pulling up her hood. “Don’t need the bus service shutting down on me.”

City Hall stood all of five minutes away from the DMM office, and Gwen soon had procured her five files on the countryside surrounding Belford.

The papers tucked in her bag, Gwen was just emerging from the building when a sudden glimpse of rich red lips and startlingly blue eyes caught her attention. She froze.

The woman from two nights ago stood across the street, her gaze directed rather pointedly at Gwen. As soon as their eyes met, the woman made an about-face and began striding to the right. Gwen followed almost without thinking, pushing through pedestrians with her face constantly turned to the woman.

When they reached an intersection, the woman paused, then glanced at Gwen. Her expression did not suggest fear or annoyance. More like calculation.

Gwen started herself into action and, despite the adrenaline in her veins telling her this was not a safe idea, crossed the street to the woman’s side. The woman did not react as Gwen neared her, merely looked forward like any bored pedestrian waiting for the light to change.

Gwen stepped in a little behind her, followed a few paces behind as the light permitted them to cross. The woman continued to pretend not to see her, walking at a brisk yet casual pace.

Gwen followed the woman for nearly three blocks before they ended up in front of a Waterstone’s bookshop. The woman abruptly ducked inside and Gwen followed.

The store was clean and professional, and it helped ease the thriller spy novel vibes Gwen was getting from this whole thing. She pulled back her hood and followed the woman as inconspicuously as she could, skittering her eyes over a shelf of bestsellers. The woman seemed patient, cloying even, wandering past shelves with her hands in her pockets and her gait rambling. She stopped a few times to pick up books on display, flipping through them and generally making Gwen feel more and more like an idiot.

Eventually, though, they ended up in the back corner, among the fantasy and science fiction books. Merlin and Gwen had, in fact, spent more than one evening back here. Gwen usually with a pile of books she’d scavenged from the rest of the store and Merlin investigating new authors. Morgana joined them on occasion, in which case she’d pretend to casually find the Star Wars expanded universe.

Now, Gwen examined a row of book spines without registering the titles. Several paces away, the woman slid out a thick paperback and examined the cover.

“Oh, I like this version’s cover,” she said suddenly, and Gwen nearly gasped. She’d forgotten how much power resonated in the woman’s voice. Still, she ticked her head to see the woman and the book in her hands. It took a moment for the title to sink in.

“Is this some kind of joke?” she asked. The woman shrugged, looking amused.

“Could be. For all you or I know, this is all one huge joke. You should ask Emrys about it.”

“I—“ Gwen blinked, then turned to fully face the woman. “Who are you?”

The woman seemed to muse on this question. “I’m not telling you right now,” she decided. “Not until we have everything straightened out. But if you need a name, use Cara.”

“Cara,” Gwen repeated. The woman—Cara—regaled her with wide, blue eyes and a patient expression.

“Are we at a loss for words?” she suggested when Gwen didn’t speak for several moments.

“What do you want me to say?” Gwen asked, a little desperately. “You come in with that envelope—“

“Which I see you’ve given to your dear knight,” Cara interrupted. “Waste of time, Guinevere, there’s nothing in there that can hurt anyone.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re DMM employees,” Gwen pointed out. “It’s our job to be suspicious of things like that.”

“Yes, and such a world of peace and prosperity your people have created,” Cara said, and for the first time, Gwen heard something sharp in her voice.

“I have no idea what your issue or goal is,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking. “If you want to express your dissatisfaction, you need to come to us and speak openly. That’s the only way conflict between your kind and mine can be properly solved. Of course I’m going to assume danger if you sneak about handing me mysterious envelopes and staring at me threateningly.” Cara’s mouth twisted into a smile.

“I think I see it,” she murmured. “Oh, I think I see it. That’s funny, isn’t it? When I learned that you’d become the queen…well, it seems you still have it, after all those years.”

“I’m sorry?”

“But tell me Guinevere,” Cara continued. “Since when have those in power ever done more than politely listen to what the oppressed have to say?” Gwen felt something catch in her throat.

Cara’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, and she sighed, as if suddenly bored with the conversation.

“Anyway. It’s beside the main point. We’ll talk again once Emrys has himself sorted out,” she began stepping past Gwen. “Until then, we don’t need to quarrel.”

Gwen seemed to shove through the fog of confusion when her arm came up so fast, she surprised herself. Her hand gripped the front of Cara’s jacket, and she could hear the woman’s small intake of breath, the heat of her eyes as she focused on Gwen.

“We don’t need to quarrel,” Gwen agreed in a low voice. “But you harm any of them, or threaten to harm, then we have a quarrel.”

“You’re a serving girl,” Cara muttered after a few breaths. “A serving girl against a High Priestess.”

“The rules are different this time around,” said someone who sounded very much like Gwen, but couldn’t possibly be Gwen. And then her hand loosened and Cara shoved something in Gwen’s hands as she walked away. Gwen listened to the receding footsteps and stared at the floor, her mind a blank buzz.

When she finally lifted her head, she felt fuzzy, like she’d just woken up from a deep sleep. Everything felt too near and too distant at once.

“Good god,” she muttered to herself, managing to turn around and sweep her eyes across a perfectly normal scene of a bookshop. “Good god, that was…weird.”

And then she looked down and nearly laughed, because how could she not?

Not when Guinevere Smith, best friend to Morgana Pendragon and Merlin Emerson, reluctant coworker to Arthur Pendragon, stood in Waterstone’s holding T.H. White’s _The Once and Future_ _King_.


	6. Chapter 6

Freya was waiting in the corner of the café, staring blankly at a group of students with her chin resting in her hand. She jerked her head up when Merlin arrived, her expression evolving from pleased to annoyed in an alarmingly short amount of time.

“I know, I’m very late,” Merlin apologized, holding up one hand in defense as he sat down across from her. “Arthur and I had a difficult time finding the university library.”

Actually, Merlin had been simultaneously driving and peering at the GPS on his phone while Arthur tossed out insults and refused to be helpful. But Merlin didn’t see the need to include all that.

“And you needed to bring him along…why?” Freya asked, although her tone had drifted back to amused more than annoyed.

“I’m not the one afraid to use the phones,” Merlin pointed out.

“That’s...true, yes,” Freya scrubbed at her face. “But I didn’t have anywhere in York I could talk without someone right there. This is easier.” Merlin waited, and Freya released a long whoosh of air.

“Okay. So there’s been a string of magical events the last few months,” she said, her voice notching lower. “Big ones, ones that would require massive amounts of power. Gwen was right. There’s something…odd about it.”

“You don’t think it’s all a coincidence,” Merlin offered.

“This is why I couldn’t talk over the phone,” Freya leaned closer as well. “I’d not even consider them all being linked if it wasn’t for the fact that they all have the same… signature. You know…” she paused, glanced around a little fearfully. “You know how spells have styles to them? Flavors? You can almost taste whether it was a man or a woman who performed them, a novice or expert, human or non-human?” Merlin nodded. “These events: the poisoned wells, the backed up water pipes, they all carry the signature of someone very powerful, and someone female. And beyond that, the spells themselves are _ancient_. I had to dig through the oldest books we have on record to find someone even _mention_ the sigils being used. And those tomes said the runes were old beyond reckoning. Parts of some of the first spells discovered by High Priestesses from the Old Religion, they suggested.”

“That’s,” Merlin screwed up his face. “That’s millennia.”

“Yes,” Freya breathed, and for the first time, Merlin saw a trace of fear. “Merlin, there’s no one alive who should be able to perform those kinds of spells. Not in this day and age.”

“You never know,” Merlin shrugged, uncomfortably aware of the many spells he’d performed that, technically, ought not be feasible. That was one thing he’d never shared with anyone, druid or not. No one other than Gaius.

“Yes, and that’s what’s nerve-wracking,” Freya insisted. “I don’t even know how to approach my superiors about this. I can’t just tell them I _felt_ how powerful these spells were.”

“The sigils,” Merlin suggested. “That knowledge came from a book, that’d be safe to share.”

“I did,” Freya said sullenly. “And nothing. I was told it’d be kept on file.” She snorted. “This is the first time I’ve laid out the entire mess to someone.” They sat in musing silence for a long moment before Merlin spoke again.

“What I’m not understanding,” he said, “assuming these magical events come from same person, is why? What on earth would an incredibly powerful sorceress be doing backing up water pipes?”

“Experimenting?” Freya offered. “C’mon, how many young druids have we found ruining entire infrastructures because they started throwing raw magic around?”

Merlin and Freya exchanged a mutual expression of grim recollection at the incident with the 50-foot albino alligators in Sunderland.

“But this isn’t raw magic, _can’t_ be raw magic,” Merlin said. “You said yourself, this kind of power requires skill, concentration. This isn’t a kid playing around, this is someone with experience and intent.”

“No, not necessarily,” Freya said firmly. “Someone with immense power is still liable to experiment with what they can do.” Merlin shifted in his seat. He wanted to point out that he could do things that, according to Gaius, shouldn’t be possible. Yet he didn’t see himself running about poisoning wells. Then again, perhaps this person didn’t have someone like Gaius to scold them for using magic senselessly. It caused, unexpectedly, a small swell of pity in Merlin’s chest.

Freya blew out a stream of air through pursed lips and said, “But you came because of the merfolk, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Merlin agreed, pulling the report out of his bag. “I didn’t know how much attention you paid to the sightings.”

“Plenty,” Freya said grimly. “I was the one to conduct the survey.” She seemed to hesitate before continuing. “This actually didn’t seem to involve any magic. Nothing I could identify, anyway. I was surprised that you tied it in with the poisoned wells and everything.”

“It may just be us speculating,” Merlin suggested, flipping through the report until he found the graph. “What were your thoughts?”

“I was thinking climate change,” Freya said vaguely. “Changing food supply. Maybe the hunting in the south has been getting harder. Overfishing.”

“Can they even handle the water temperatures right now?”

“Oh yes. Magical creatures, remember? Only reason we deal with them instead of DEFRA.”

“Mm,” Merlin surveyed the graph again as Freya finally drank from the coffee cup that had been sitting at her elbow since Merlin had arrived.

“Okay,” Freya set down her cup “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll let you focus in on the merfolk, since that’s in your area. I’m going to take a second look at these incidents. Maybe there’s something I’m missing that will help me build my case that there’s a powerful sorceress running about causing trouble.” She grinned a little wryly. “Because that obviously is going to go well with the big boys upstairs.”

Merlin hesitated, then reached out one hand.

“Gwen, Gaius and I are all helping you, you know that?” He left his hand palm-up in the middle of the table, like a peace offering, and Freya accepted it after a moment. Her hand was small and firm, a bit like Gwen’s but Merlin could feel the magic humming in her. It was wonderful, and he recalled how much they’d enjoyed this, sensing the magic in the each other like a warm promise.

Perhaps Freya was thinking something similar, because she offered Merlin a tired, kind smile.

“Look at us. Hiding in a café in Durham. We’re a pair of masochists, is what we are,” she said. Merlin laughed, wishing it weren’t so true.

***

“Do you want to share where we’re going?” Arthur asked as they sped along the A691. They’d left Durham behind about ten minutes ago and now passed grey fields with houses rising and falling like intermittent dynasties in the timeline of the road.

Merlin wriggled his eyebrows in Arthur’s direction.

“It’s a _surprise_ ,” he said, as if Arthur couldn’t possibly want anything more. Arthur stared at him, feeling the way his mouth curled incredulously in the corners.

“A surprise,” he echoed.

“No need to look scared, it’s nothing that’ll hurt you.”

“It?”

“The surprise. Which I am not revealing because then it would cease being a surprise.”

“So it’s a magical creature?” A unicorn perhaps. Or a manticore. Merlin would probably find both equally thrilling.

“I’m not telling.”

“Good god, you’re as bad as Morgana,” Arthur grouched. Merlin looked as if he might be taking that as a compliment, and Arthur wished the pensive Merlin that had picked him up was back. That version, at least, didn’t make inane comments.

“Okay so,” Arthur tapped his knuckle against the glass. “Where are we now?”

“Now?” Merlin’s face screwed up. “Nearing Witton, I suppose.”

“Anything I should know about Witton?”

“No particularly,” Merlin gave him a look as if Arthur were the odd one. “There’s a registered sorcerer here, but he hasn’t committed any offenses for decades. I think he mainly sells candles now.”

“I see,” Arthur peered out of the windshield. “Suspicious candles: I look to Witton. Check.” Merlin released a surprised guffaw. “Anything else?” Arthur continued. “Druids in the drugstore?”

“None of that, no. Nor leprechauns in the library or sorcerers in the schoolhouse.”

“I…okay,” Arthur looked back out the window, literally left with nothing to say. He thought he could sense Merlin laughing at him.

“There’s a druid tribe that travels around the area a little south of us,” Merlin continued. “We get complaints every once in a while from locals, but they’re registered and protected. So there’s that.” Arthur turned his head slightly.

“How many druidic groups do you have?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“About five,” Merlin replied. “None of them are very big. The largest, up near the National Park, that’s only a few hundred people.” He seemed to hesitate a moment. “I have no idea how that compares to London.”

“London is…” Arthur huffed a laugh. “They don’t have the traditional structure, exactly. More urban. Messier. They have their hubs and then a loose network of sorts. It’s interesting trying to keep track of them all.”

“Mm,” Merlin replied noncommittally, and Arthur glanced over to catch sight of the man’s profile. It had a harder edge to it, Arthur thought. Something almost…annoyed.

“They don’t cause many problems here though, do they?” Arthur asked.

“How’s that?”

“The druids. I’ve been reading the papers I’ve been filing,” and Arthur straightened, leaned forward almost unconsciously. “You have the five migrant groups, fine, but there are hundreds of self-identified druids living among the rest of society, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Merlin repeated. His brow had definitely lowered.

“I mean, nearly 45 percent of these druids hold stable jobs. Their kids go to school. They don’t seem to have any issues with their non-magical communities. Do you know what I’d kill to get numbers like that for London?”

“Yeah, only these druids usually aren’t magic users,” Merlin said.

“What?”

“Druids are a cultural group. They’re bound by common beliefs and traditions. Magic is part of that, yes, but not every druid necessarily uses magic. They can perform the ceremonies and worship their gods without using actual magic. Just go through the motions, instead.”

“I know that, thanks.”

“So you obviously didn’t see the breakdown of the numbers,” Merlin shifted in his seat. “Most of the druids who have stable jobs and live in ‘normal’ communities: they’re not magical. The standard case is that they had one or both parents as druids, then once they grew up they left to join the larger society.” He gave the road a hard stare. “They give up the magic because they know people won’t hire them otherwise. Anyone magical living a _normal_ life is probably keeping it a secret. Even from their loved ones.”

Arthur found his eyes locked on Merlin’s profile. The hardness of the jaw. The rumple of the brow. He was suddenly aware of something opening inside him. Something familiar, and he wanted to open his mouth and give it words, but he didn’t know what to say at all.

“How do you know all that?” he heard himself say as if from a distance.

“We talk to them,” Merlin shrugged. “The five druid leaders are more or less willing to work with us. They trust Gaius.”

Arthur snorted.

“Love to say we have the same relationship in London,” he said.

“Yeah, well, can’t imagine having Uther right there helps any.”

“Sorry?”

Merlin hesitated a moment. “Uther Pendragon. The man who called druids terrorists.”

“After they attack five buildings,” Arthur offered, aware of a growing heat across his face. “Also the man I call my father, in case you forgot that.”

“No, didn’t forget.” Merlin was refusing to look at him, Arthur noted.

“Well please,” Arthur said, his voice just this side of too loud. “Don’t hold back your opinion, by all means.”

“I’m only saying,” Merlin said, his voice rising as well. “That relations with users of magic have absolutely _plummeted_ since he took over.”

“Because they’re _dangerous_ ,” Arthur choked out a half laugh. “I’m sorry, did you learn any history at all? They nearly cost us the second World War.”

“Oh good god,” Merlin shouted. “You’re going to tell me a group of extremist sorcerers who absolutely do not represent the whole—“

“So you’re one of them, are you?” Arthur demanded, the blood rushing in his ears. “One of the apologists? You going to start singing “Zombie” into my face? How many near-disasters does it take for you people to stop wanting to damn coddle the magic users? Why are you working here? Go join the druids if you’re so damn—“

“Okay,” Merlin twisted at the steering wheel, and Arthur was thrown sideways as Merlin pulled to the side of the road and sent the car to a squealing stop.

“What the—“

“Out,” Merlin unlocked the door. “This is my car, I don’t need to listen to your prejudiced bullshit.” He pointed a finger, and Arthur could see it shaking. “You, Pendragon, you and your father and all the other assholes like you are why this country’s magical policy is so royally fucked up. I don’t need to listen to it, and you can leave right now.”

“We’re in the middle of the countryside,” Arthur said, mainly because he couldn’t think of anything better to say.

“And I give a damn?” Merlin spat. They stared at one another, Merlin trembling, Arthur left between something like frozen shock and boiling anger and utter, awful confusion. A car roared past them, and the sound seemed to snap Merlin out of whatever self-righteous trance he was caught in. Giving Arthur a dirty look, Merlin shifted the car back into drive and pulled into the road.

Arthur breathed out, long and loud, and wondered what the hell had just happened.   

He didn’t dare look in Merlin’s direction until the car slowed and stopped about twenty minutes later.

When the engine idled into silence, Arthur peered around the empty, small parking lot and found the land scrubby and brown. A dark expanse of water stood before them: a reservoir, Arthur guessed.

Merlin left the car without speaking and Arthur followed with no small amount of wariness. He tightened his jacket around himself. The flat plains left them exposed to whipping, sharp winds. Arthur wished he’d remember to bring his hat and gloves with him.

He looked up to find Merlin already making his way to the water’s edge and followed with a little hop.

They walked in silence along the water’s edge for perhaps five minutes, Arthur struggling to keep up with Merlin’s long, loping paces. Arthur didn’t like lakes, for no reason he could ever pin down. They reeked of slimy things and bad ideas, and Arthur found himself eyeing the rippling water with wariness.

Merlin stopped quite suddenly and bent down to run his fingers across something in the mud edging the reservoir. Arthur inched behind him and looked down to find a set of track marks. They looked like they belonged to a very, very small horse. It took a moment, but then Arthur huffed and shook his head.

“You bring me out here to see man-eating ponies?” he asked dryly. Merlin stood and glanced back at Arthur with his lips tight, but the anger was more or less gone from his eyes.

“It’s one of three known kelpies in all of Great Britain. _I_ thought it was cool.”

“Man-eating ponies,” Arthur reminded him.

“Yeah, if you’re stupid,” Merlin rolled his eyes and kept walking.

“They’re vicious though aren’t they?” Arthur followed with a small stumble. “If they can’t trick you, that is.”

“Oh yeah,” Merlin agreed, and his voice really sounded far too smug. “This fellow chased Gaius when he first came out to examine rumors of human bones being found here. Took a chomp out of his pack.”

“So why is this area not closed off?” Arthur asked, eyeing the water with fresh trepidation. “I bet the local kids dare each other to come down here. If one of them ends up as some kelpie’s lunch, you must realize how fucked that would leave your office.”

“God, pessimistic much?” Merlin hopped across a small stream flowing into the reservoir. “Freya and Gaius set up precautions years ago.”

“What kind of precautions—“

“Shh,” Merlin held up one hand, his head high and his face alert. Arthur wished he had a weapon on hand.

“Look,” Merlin whispered, and Arthur squinted ahead of them to find a small pony standing in shallow water, staring at them with large, liquid eyes. It had a smooth, glistening black pelt, like sealskin, and its mane streamed with water. It looked completely innocent, cute even, and Arthur felt a deep shudder run through him when he considered how many victims it had drowned before the DMM was able to restrain it.

Merlin—of course _Merlin_ grinned like a loon, sinking into a crouch with his hands clasped between his knees and making soft noises at the kelpie like it was an actual pony and not a monster.

“What are you doing?” Arthur hissed, then fell silent as the kelpie sloshed towards them a few steps. It was too far away to present immediate danger, but Arthur still found its stare disarming.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Merlin admonished, which Arthur thought a bit rich. “I told you, Freya and Gaius have restrictions put up. It can’t hurt us.”

“Oh?” Arthur demanded. “What on earth kind of restrictions? I don’t see anything at all.”

Merlin sighed and rubbed at his temple. “The local druids I mentioned? They helped.”

It took Arthur a moment, and then he frowned.

“Magic,” he said slowly. “Merl— _magic?_ Do you…that’s illegal in about twenty different ways.”

“Yeah, and how do you propose anyone restrain a magical creature except through magic?” Merlin demanded. “And they got express governmental permission for it, so this was illegal in no way, thank you.”

Arthur breathed through pursed lips. He cut it off abruptly when the kelpie took another few steps forward, paused, tilted its head, and disappeared beneath the water like a hole had opened beneath it.

“ _Shit_ ,” he breathed, scrambling away from the water’s edge. Merlin had the gall to laugh. “Shut _up_ ,” Arthur ordered.

Merlin merely went to a stand and strode towards Arthur, clapping his back as he passed.

“Careful,” he said. “It can smell fear.”

“Be better to kill the thing,” Arthur rolled his shoulders and followed Merlin back toward the car, working not to look at the water.

“I swear, you have not changed one iota,” Merlin called.

“Oh, and look who’s still getting dewy eyed over magical horses, _Mer_ lin.”

Arthur paused to pull his boot out of a patch of sucking mud. When he looked back up, Merlin had turned around to frown at him. “What?” Arthur asked, blinking a little at the fuzziness retreating at the edges of his mind.

“Did you just say something?”

“I said that when there’s a man-eating pony in the vicinity, we’re better off killing it. If you want my honest opinion.” Instead of looking affronted, Merlin merely looked confused. Arthur lifted his eyebrows. “What?”

Merlin remained silent for several heartbeats.

“It’s nothing.”


	7. Chapter 7

The road whirred past Morgana’s eyes in a crazy jumble. Faster and faster until the small house rose like a monolith and Morgana entered with a small stumble. And there the blond woman, watching her, holding out a hand, and Morgana was reaching for it, and then a noise like a rattling of metal sounded to her.

Morgana opened her eyes.

Arthur shut the door behind him, tossing his keys into the counter. Morgana raised herself onto her elbows, the blanket slipping to the floor. Arthur glanced in her direction.

“Tired?” he asked.

“I was…” Moragana looked for the book she’d been reading, and found it on the floor with the blanket. She must have been sleepier than she’d suspected. She went to a sit, rubbing her eyes groggily.

“Fun road trip?” she asked.

“That’s one way to put it,” Arthur shrugged, toeing off mud-caked boots. “Do you realize we have a kelpie in a reservoir?” Morgana released a laugh, hoarse though it was.

“You couldn’t have avoided that one,” she assured Arthur. “He’s the star attraction, especially for Gaius.”

“Gaius, who apparently used druids and magic to restrain it,” Arthur approached the fridge and swung it open to peer vaguely inside. “Does that not strike you as…odd? Mildly illegal?”

“It was a special case, Arthur,” Morgana stood and stretched herself out. “Apparently they got permission from the higher ups. Gaius said Uther didn’t speak to him for months.”

Arthur shut the fridge door. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. Father never mentioned it, I know that much.”

“Because I’m sure he loves to discuss the time his straightjacket values were overridden,” Morgana bent down to retrieve her book and blanket and toss them back on the couch.

She looked up to find Arthur giving her a tired expression.

“I think you and Merlin must subscribe to the same magazines or something,” he observed. “It’s like…you spout the exact same arguments. It’s amazing, frankly.”

“I’m sure that any opinion not approved by Uther is amazing to you,” Morgana said smoothly.

Arthur didn’t bother replying and moved on to poking into several cabinets.

“You need to go to the store,” he told her. “I’ve been eating apple and peanut butter the last two nights, and now the apples are gone.”

“You have legs, and they work quite well,” Morgana replied. “Even a credit card. I’ll be happy to explain how it works.” Arthur didn’t answer, and soon he retreated to the small kitchen table with a bag of pretzel sticks and a jar of peanut butter. Morgana joined him and snagged a handful of pretzels.

“Did Merlin show you the Valley?” she asked, eyeing the peanut butter standing at Arthur’s elbow. Arthur sighed and slid the jar towards her.

“The Valley,” he held up a hand and counted off. “The village that’s like, 60 percent sorcerers, Northumberland National Park—the one with the massive druid camp—, Middlesburough, one of the ley lines, the merfolk coves—those are apparently really full this winter. Yeah. Interesting area, North East England.” He and Morgana watched one another over the jar of peanut butter.

“Admit it,” Morgana leaned forward and rested her chin in her hand. “You’re impressed.”

“I stared down a kelpie today. I’d call that impressive.”

“I’m sure it was very inspiring,” Morgana reached out to swipe her pretzel in the peanut butter and, somewhat surprisingly, felt a bloom of warmth in her chest. It was a feeling she associated with unproductive afternoons with Merlin and Gwen in the office, or, if she wanted to reach back, the dim memories of her father.

Now, watching Arthur root through her pretzels, Morgana had one of those moments where she had to recognize that however overconfident and infuriating her stepbrother could be, he was still family. It counted for something: their many evenings spent hidden in the guest bedroom while Uther entertained stuffy politicians and their bland children. Their play-fights with Arthur as a knight and Morgana the evil witch. The time Arthur had played the most magnificent prank on Thomas Wendall after he’d cheated on Morgana. The time Morgana had crept into Arthur’s room and played Call of Duty all night with him, because the next morning he’d be going to boarding school for the first time.

Morgana let a small smile play at the edge of her mouth as she pulled another handful of pretzels from the bag.

The vision of the blond woman snapped at her between one blink at the next. It shone crisp and real in her mind’s eye. Morgana froze, a pretzel halfway to her mouth. Arthur paused as well.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Still groggy,” she rubbed at her eyes. “I hate falling asleep during the day. Throws everything off.”

“To be fair, it’s more late evening,” Arthur offered, and Morgana glanced at the microwave to find that indeed, the time was nearing nine.

“Oh shit,” she stood. “We’re meeting with Leon in half an hour.”

“We are?” Arthur stared dumbly up at her. “No one told me this.”

“I forgot to,” Morgana tugged at Arthur’s shirt, ignoring his protestation. “C’mon, get something decent on.”

“I haven’t finished unpacking.”

“That’s hardly my fault, is it?” Morgana asked. She managed to probe him into a stand, though he clutched the pretzels and peanut butter moodily to his chest.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere crazy, just one of the local bars. You’re meeting the group tonight.”

“Wait,” Arthur looked back at her, his eyes narrowed. “Is Merlin going to be there?”

“Yeees.”

“Morgana, I just literally spent all day with him,” Arthur protested.

“Lovely. No one’s forcing you to talk with him. There are enough of us you can ignore him completely.“

Arthur looked unsure, so Morgana threw in a final attempt.

“You haven’t seen Leon for months,” she said. “He’s looking forward to it.” Arthur’s face softened. Success.

“Wear that blue button up,” Morgana gave him another push before he could speak. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Yes mother,” Arthur rolled his eyes in her direction, but he did begin walking of his own accord.

Twenty minutes later, Morgana flicked off the lights and led Arthur down the stairwell. They’d be taking the bus, Morgana informed him, since she wasn’t in the mood to battle for parking spots on a Friday evening.

Morgana felt oddly cheerful, she reflected a few minutes later, as she and Arthur swayed side by side on a crowded bus. The strange visions felt like bad memories, easily dismissed.

And they felt like nothing more than vague dreams once she and Arthur entered the small bar and approached a waving Leon, accompanied by Elyan and Percival.

“Was wondering when you two would show up,” Leon gave Arthur a hug and slap on the back, and Morgana saw a fresh gladness enter her stepbrother’s eyes, one that had been missing all week.

“Arthur, this is Elyan Smith and Percival Du Bois,” Leon gestured. “Two of the best men on the force, if you’re looking for my opinion.”

“You’re making me blush, Leon,” Percival said, smiling crookedly.

“Leon likes to play proud dad,” Elyan grinned as he shook Arthur’s hand.

“I’ve seen the same thing when we used to play rugby.” Arthur nodded, then tilted his head. “You wouldn’t happen to be Gwen’s brother, would you?”

“The same,” Elyan agreed. “You two’re office mates now, aren’t you?” Arthur gave a nervous huff of a laugh.

“Not sure I’ve been the best company so far,” he said. “Things have been a bit stressful.”

Elyan’s laugh was edged with self-consciousness that suggested more than one complaint from Gwen. “Well, anyone’d be stressed after that,” he said. He gestured suddenly to Percival. “Percival’s my partner in the force. I think he said you’d met, isn’t that right, Perce?”

“At that DMM convention in Manchester,” Percival agreed.

“Yeah, I remember you.” Arthur asked in a jovial voice, shaking Percival’s hand. “You and the smartass with the long hair.”

Elyan retreated to Morgana’s side, his polite smile creeping away.

“How have you been, Elyan?” Morgana asked, and his smile turned more genuine. It resembled Gwen’s, in a certain way.

“Not too busy, for once,” he leaned back against the table. “We had that shooting two nights ago, but no one was hurt thankfully.” He took a sip from his beer, his eyes on Arthur as he talked to Percival.

“So honestly,” Morgana tipped her voice lower. “What have you heard so far about my brother?” Elyan’s mouth twitched.

“That he’s ‘a little high-strung right now,’ according to Gwen.” Elyan tilted his head. “But she’s right, he’s gone through some shit, hasn’t he? I mean that story’s been plastered all over the telly the last few days. Right panic.”

“Yes,” Morgana allowed, because it was true. Elyan huffed a small laugh.

“I hear he’s staying at your flat,” he said, and sounded a little too amused by the idea.

“It’s not so terrible,” Morgana said, thinking of pretzels. She made an abrupt face. “But he needs to get his own place at some point. I know for a fact that he’s started chatting it up with Vivian.”

“Really?” Elyan raised his brows. “We’ll have to see where that one goes.”

Morgana leaned closer. “We’re taking bets.”

“Oh lord.”

“Eleven quid that they hook up within the next three weeks.”

Elyan shook his head, and Morgana could all but see him trying not to smile.

“It was Gwen’s idea,” she added, and Elyan snorted.

“I’m not the betting type,” he said in a carefully flat voice.

“What’s this about bets?” Gwaine sidled up to them, peeling off his jacket and scarf. He radiated cold. Elyan shook his head again and raised his glass to his lips, still struggling to keep his grin to a minimum.

“We,” Morgana turned to Gwaine, her hair swinging, “are taking bets on Arthur and Vivian Vallie.”

Gwaine laughed aloud, and Morgana glimpsed Arthur lift his head to take in the newest addition. Beside her, Elyan was shaking.

“Don’t tell Leon about this,” Gwaine said, his eyes sparkling. “Otherwise he’ll make us all feel guilty.”

“But _Gwen_ came up with it,” Elyan said. “I didn’t realize she had it in her.”

“Speak of the devil,” Morgana tilted her head as Gwen and Merlin entered the bar and hurried over with flushed cheeks.

“Hey,” Gwen breathed to them, throwing one arm around Elyan for a brief hug. “Sorry, we had to wait for Merlin to shower and dress.”

“So Gwen,” Gwaine tilted his head. ”What’s this I hear about you setting up a betting pool on Arthur and Vivian?”

Gwen shook her head wearily, and Morgana wondered whether she was imagining the bag under Gwen’s eyes. “I was completely and utterly joking. Merlin and Morgana are the ones who wanted to actually do it.”

“I thought it was a brilliant idea,” Morgana teased.

“Yes but,” Gwen glanced at Arthur and lowered her voice further. “If he finds out, he’s going to hate me.”

“Psh, don’t fuss,” Gwaine waved his hand. “We’ll take the blame, yeah?”

Gwen yanked her hat from her head and sighed.

“Right,” she said, sounding unconvinced. “I’m getting drinks.”

“I’ll come with,” Morgana stood. She gestured to Gwaine. “Go say hello to Arthur, Leon’s looking in your direction.”

“I’ve already met him,” Gwaine protested, and Elyan nudged him with his elbow.

“Come on,” he steered Gwaine towards Arthur, Leon and Percival. “He’s not a bad guy.”

“Didn’t say that,” Gwaine mumbled.

“Merlin?” Gwen asked. Merlin jerked slightly and blinked at Morgana and Gwen. It didn’t look as if he’d been registering a word of the conversation so far.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he said. Morgana found herself exchanging a glance with Gwen. And yes, she definitely had heavy bags under her eyes.

“How’d the meeting with Freya go?” Gwen asked as the three began edging their way towards the bar.

“Um,” Merlin glanced back at the group. “Interesting. We’ve got some work cut out for us, that’s for sure.”

“What was the meeting about?” Morgana asked.

“Merfolk sightings,” Merlin explained. “And a few more things. It’s a bit complicated. I feel like I should discuss with Gaius first.”

“It’s nothing emergency, is it?” Gwen asked.

“No, no I don’t think so.” Merlin hesitated briefly. “Freya thinks you’re right, Gwen. That there’s a powerful sorceress performing water-focused magic across England. She—the style seems to be the same.”

Morgana breathed out sharply. The last time a pattern of magical events had occurred, it had led to a group of necromancers. It wasn’t anything Morgana needed to experience ever again. Gwen looked as if she was thinking something similar.

“Please, just let me talk to Gaius,” Merlin said before either of them could speak. “I need…there’s a lot to sort out still.”

“No, of course,” Morgana said. She released a half laugh. “It’s a Friday night, you two. We’re allowed to forget about work for a while.”

Gwen and Merlin smiled back, but neither looked convinced of it. And if Morgana was being perfectly honest, she felt far from easy herself.

When they returned to the table, Arthur was looking murderously at them and Gwaine was laughing so hard that he couldn’t sit up straight.

“What did we miss?” Morgana asked, looking around at the table.

“Gwaine ruined _everything_ and let slip about the betting pool on Arthur and Vivian,” Elyan said in a fake annoyed voice.

“Seriously, you lot?” Arthur demanded. “Is it really that boring out here?”

“Ah, don’t take it seriously, Princess,” Gwaine choked out. “Just a bit of fun.”

“Well now I’m not going out with her at all,” Arthur took a pull from his beer. “So there. Bunch of children, I swear to god.”

***

Gwen tried hard to focus that evening. She really did. But when even Gwaine asked her at one point if she’d had a rough day, she knew it was time to head home.

“Want me to drive you?” Merlin asked in a low voice when she announced that she was knackered. Gwen paused, one arm still halfway through her coat sleeve. She looked to Merlin, then instinctively glanced up and caught Elyan watching her, a line between his brows.

Gwen rolled in her lips briefly, then finished sliding on her coat.

“If you’d like,” she told Merlin. “I can catch a cab.”

“I don’t want to stay,” Merlin confessed, already tugging on his own jacket. They said goodbye, Elyan still watching Gwen. His expression had a certain I’m-calling-you-later-tonight-and-you’re-telling-me-what’s-wrong-and-I’m-not-taking-no-for-an-answer look. Gwen recognized it all too well.

She released a groaning sigh as they left the bar, and Merlin’s hand came up to pat her shoulder.

They walked the three blocks to Merlin’s car in silence, Gwen finding herself darting glances at every woman they passed. When they got into Merlin’s car, he started the engine, shifted into gear, and began to back out.

“Do you want to tell me now or later?” Gwen tilted her head up to look at the ceiling dotted with small stains. “Or don’t tell me,” Merlin continued, shifting into drive and starting down the street. “Can you share with Gaius maybe? Elyan?”

“Gaius has enough to worry over. Elyan isn’t…he’s never understood why I wanted to get involved in magic management. He’d call dad and start convincing me to quit my job.” She all but felt Merlin’s anxiety levels ratchet up.

“Is it to do with the woman with the envelope?” he asked. Gwen hesitated, then nodded. Mortified, she felt a small, hot sting at her eyes. She blinked hard and stared out at a pair of men laughing on the sidewalk.

“Gwen, if there’s trouble, you shouldn’t try to handle it alone.” he said. Gwen remained silent. “Because something happened, Gwen, I can tell. You’re scared.”

“So what if I am?” Gwen snapped, surprised at the volume of her own voice in the small space. “I’m allowed to be scared, Merlin. I’ve seen what people with that kind of power can do. They took my brother! My husband, my friends! I know a queen is supposed to be brave, but god, I’d be a fool if I wasn’t also frightened.”

She clamped her lips shut, swaying in the seat and feeling fuzzy and wrong and a little nauseous. Slowly, she inched her head towards the cool window glass and rested her brow there.

When she tilted her glance towards Merlin, she found a grave, pensive expression. They drove in silence for a long three minutes.

“Who took your brother?” Merlin didn’t look in her direction. His brows hung low over his eyes. They lit blue with passing headlights.

“What?”

“You said they took you brother?”

“I…” Gwen inhaled deeply and shook her head. “No one took Elyan…what?”

“Nothing. I don’t…forget it.” Gwen frowned into the glass, her head rolling against it gently.

When they pulled in front of her apartment building a few minutes later, Gwen released a long breath that fogged the glass.

“Have a few minutes?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Come on then. It’s too cold to sit in the car.”

Merlin insisted that Gwen sit while he prepared tea, and to be honest, she only put up a token resistance. She felt emotionally and mentally drained. The hot mug Merlin placed in her hands several minutes later felt like heaven. She allowed herself a few sips before setting it on the table and sliding her hands to her knees, gripping them. Merlin tried to watch her concernedly without being obvious about it.

“You’re not Superman here, Merlin,” Gwen said.

“Mm?”

“I know you have a thing for the hero act, but honestly, this isn’t the time for it.”

“Well,” Merlin lifted his eyebrows at her. “Maybe if you’d just tell me what happened, I can relax and stop mother henning.”

“You stop mother henning?” Gwen laughed, and Merlin quirked his lips in return. “All right, hang on.” Gwen went to her bedroom and grabbed the Waterstone’s bag. Merlin eyed it curiously when she sat back down.

“I saw her again today,” Gwen said. She explained the encounter in the bookstore, watching Merlin’s face grow more and more confused.

“This,” she tugged the book from its bag and handed it over to Merlin. “She was looking at this. And the references…Merlin, I looked up Emrys after I got back to the office.” She hesitated, as if keeping the knowledge in her mouth would stop everything from spiraling into this odd world where nothing made sense.

“It’s one of Merlin’s names,” Merlin said for her. “The wizard from legend, I mean. I’ve done some reading, yeah.” Gwen and Merlin stared at one another, before Gwen felt a small, choked giggle escape her.

“Really,” she tapped at _The Once and Future King_. “You can’t blame her. Look at us, would you? Guinevere? Merlin? Arthur and Uther effing Pendragon? It’s like the universe is having a field day. My god,” she threw up her hands as if in defeat. “We have a Morgana. A Lancelot. Who I _like_.”

“Though you’re not married to Arthur, so there’s that at least,” Merlin cracked a grin. Gwen snorted, and of course, began gauging whether she held some deep-seated, fate-driven affection for Arthur Pendragon. She didn’t think so, but then again, she hadn’t been keen on him the first time around, had she? Gwen sneezed suddenly, shook her head, blinked hard.

“What I’m curious about,” Merlin was saying, frowning at the far wall, “was how you guessed at—what was it? Cara?—Cara having magic. She didn’t make any obvious indication.”

“I don’t know,” Gwen rested her head in one hand. “It seemed…obvious. Like, as obvious as the fact that she had brown hair and white skin. What?”

Merlin shook his head, took a deep breath. He rubbed his hands across his forehead.

“Usually, only users of magic can sense magic in others,” he said.

“Yes, thank you, why do you think this has been disturbing me so much?” Gwen asked, her voice breaking a little. She took her tea, sipped at it slowly. “I know her name’s a fake,” she continued. “But I ran a scan on the name at the office. No registered sorceresses or druids named Cara in Newcastle. In North East England, we have one in Stockton, one in Hartlepool, two among the druids.” She looked at Merlin with her mouth bunched up to the left.

“Did you…” Merlin opened and closed his mouth. “Did you say anything odd?”

“Odd as in…?”

“Out of character. That didn’t sound like you should be saying it.”

“No,” Gwen unconsciously brushed aside a niggling memory. “No, she just shoved the book at me and left.” Merlin watched her, hand over his mouth.

“Ok,” he whispered. “Ok.” Gwen sipped at her tea again.

“I’m calling Lance tomorrow and asking him to slip in that envelope somehow,” she said in a hard voice. “We need to know what’s going on.” She heaved a long sigh. “You know what I hate? I hate how _nervous_ this is making me. She shouldn’t be allowed to make me this tense.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, still whispering. Gwen pursed her lips, considering briefly whether to add the news about Morgana’s proliferating visions, because that wasn’t doing anything for her stress levels either. But Merlin already looked drawn and ill, so she patted his knee.

“It may be nothing,” she said in a suddenly firm voice. “It may be a mildly unhinged sorceress. Which, granted, isn’t ideal, but we can work with it.”

“Yeah,” Merlin repeated, looking unconvinced. “I’d better get home,” he said. “You’re all right?”

“When am I not all right?” Gwen asked, and the smile Merlin gave her was heavy.

***

When Merlin had left with a small clack of the door, Gwen rooted her laptop from her bag, microwaved a bag of popcorn, and spent the next three hours diving into Arthurian legend. Which, she soon found out, was a bit like diving into the Atlantic Ocean. There was so much of it, was the problem. Retelling after retelling, alteration after alteration, and soon Gwen found herself in a mire of contradicting stories and vague concepts about who’d come up with what ideas.

Although one thing remained certain. She could squarely blame the French for the love triangle nonsense between Arthur, Lancelot, and herse—Queen Guinevere.

After that, Gwen focused in on the queen. She felt a rising sense of wry irony that all the illustrations featured a tall, pale lady with long, golden hair and a perpetual expression of serene wisdom. She gained further comfort from the fact that Sir Elyan in legend wasn’t even related to Queen Guinevere. A cousin to Sir Lancelot, perhaps, but that didn’t seem to matter in a legend where everyone was related. And rolling in the hay with said relatives. She wondered what Morgana and Arthur had thought when they’d first read _that_ bit of the legends.

“Jesus,” Gwen closed her laptop once the clock read two in the morning. “It’s insane.” She’d been telling herself that, but it didn’t see to make anything at all clearer.

Her mobile buzzed. Gwen peered at it, then sighed at the caller ID.

“I’m alive,” she said after picking up.

“Good to hear,” Elyan replied with some amusement. Gwen parted her lips, trying to think of something to say.

“How’s Merlin?” Elyan asked, and Gwen frowned abruptly.

“Fine. He’s…fine.”

“You two left in a bit of a hurry, that’s all.”

Gwen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and struggling to pick out the tone in Elyan’s voice.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked.

“I’m asking you that.” Gwen broke out a huffing laugh. Typical of them, really. Here she was trying to play the older sister while Elyan worked to establish himself as the brother with the police badge.

“I’m just tired, Elyan,” she promised. “Merlin was too. It’s been a long week.”

“It’s just…” she heard a cabinet door slam in the long pause. “You’ve been off for a while now. Looked like utter shit tonight.”

“The Belford project,” Gwen all but recited, because enough of her current stress sprang from that anyway. “You know how it is.”

“I’ll be glad when it’s over,” Elyan said with feeling. “Dad gave me a talk last weekend about making sure you’re not straining yourself.”

“I swear, between the two of you and Merlin…” Gwen trailed off, shaking her head. She ought to be grateful, she knew. Not everyone had family and friends who cared nearly as much about their wellbeing.

“Yeah, well,” she all but heard Elyan shrug. “It’s not like you haven’t pulled the same act on me.” A comfortable pause. “Oh, hang on, there was another reason I was calling.”

“Yeah?”

“Lance said he had a result for you and Merlin, but he forgot to bring it up until you guys had left.” Gwen straightened.

“Did he say what the results were?” she asked.

“A negative on anything magical,” Elyan said. “But that he has the—whatever it is for you whenever you want to pick it up. Said he’ll be in on Saturday from ten to three.”

“Thanks,” Gwen said. “Thanks, Elyan, that’s…a relief.”


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin listened to Gwen’s voicemail the next morning with a foggy confusion and had to replay it to turn her words into something understandable. When the message had finished playing out a second time, he let his mobile fall on his chest with a small  _thwump_.

So. No magic in the envelope. He suspected Gwen felt the same awkward mix of relieved and disappointed.

Still. He texted Gwen that he’d meet her at Lance’s office at ten and then rolled out of bed, nudging George off his feet. The cat gave him a dissatisfactory look and made himself comfortable in the warm spot Merlin had left behind.

“Freeloader,” Merlin told him, but scratched him behind the ears anyway.

His wandering Saturday morning routine played itself out in the quiet of the flat, and by nine-thirty he was striding into the street amid puffs of his own air.

His hand, jammed in his coat pocket, brushed around his mobile with every step. He toyed yet again with the idea of calling Gaius about the envelope. And the odd woman who’d given it. And the sorceress wreaking watery havoc across the country. And Gwen and Arthur saying things that were downright…familiar.

Merlin heaved a sigh that sent an impressive plume of vapor in his face as he clattered down the stairs to the tube.

 _Merlin_.

Merlin coughed once, then slipped his ear buds from his pocket and stuck them in with a certain amount of resolution. He cranked the volume up and didn’t dare turn it down until after he’d reemerged outside, two blocks from Lance’s office.

***

Gwen was already there, predictably. He found her and Lance sitting on either side of the desk, both wearing causal, rumpled Saturday kind of clothes.

“So we’re hoping to have finished stage two by around mid-May,” he heard Gwen explain.

“Have you set up a contingency plan for—oh, hey Merlin.” Lance grinned up at Merlin as he entered the room. The forensics officer sat leaning back in his chair, arms crossed and legs perched on his desk. Gwen twisted around, her expression one of tired relief. The envelope sat conspicuously between them in an evidence bag.

“Hey,” Merlin approached, and then instinctively dropped a hand on Gwen’s back. He felt her relax minutely.

“Sorry that you got dragged out here on a Saturday morning,” Lance said. “But I managed to slip this in yesterday evening and I know you two are keen on moving this along.”

“Absolutely,” Merlin dropped into the seat beside Gwen’s. “So, no magic, right?”

“Right,” Lance picked up the envelope in its evidence bag and gave it an exasperated look. “The sigil on the seal I can’t really say anything about either. It doesn’t match anything we have in the database. The next step would be cracking open the textbooks.” He passed the envelope across the desk, and Merlin accepted it. He opened his senses for the hum of magic, just in case something had changed since the last time he’d seen it. But as Lance had said, the envelope remained stoically non-magical. Even the sigil seemed to be nothing more than a series of scratches in red wax.

“You checked for fingerprints too?” Gwen asked. “Hair samples? Anything?”

“I did,” Lance agreed. “But all I could find were your prints, Gwen. The woman must have been wearing gloves.”

“She was, probably,” Gwen’s brow furrowed. “I mean, she must have been. It was evening in winter.”

“But that also means she was wearing gloves while putting the letter in,” Lance offered. “Which raises a few red flags in my mind, certainly.”

Gwen snorted. “The whole thing raises red flags.” She looked over to where Merlin was still turning the envelope over in his hands.

“Did you look for where the stationary might have come from?” he asked.

“Completely vanilla,” Lance shrugged. “You could buy that kind of envelope in any office supplies store in town.”

“Right.” Merlin glanced up at Gwen and Lance. “Okay, you know what?  At least if it explodes, we can say we tried.”

“Famous last words,” Lance pulled his feet off his desk and leaned forward, his eyes shining. “I’m ready if you are.” Merlin thought, then, that the man really hadn’t changed either. He still had that bright, burning loyalty and bravery. Merlin was glad, he truly was, that Lancelot had rejoined them.

Merlin blinked, and looked around the office as if seeing it for the first time. Gwen frowned at him—she still had the queen’s aura to her; Merlin could all but see it—and—what?

“Merlin?”

“Sorry, dizzy spell,” Merlin muttered, and ripped the evidence bag open with a surge of viciousness. He shoved the vague, flickering memories back into the corners of his mind, where they churned and sang almost mockingly.

The envelope felt cool in Merlin’s hands, smooth, almost fluid. He let himself run his hands across the cream-colored paper and the mild friction between paper and skin made him think of lightning and rain and a woman with pale skin and blue eyes.

He cracked the seal with a deft tug and pulled out a plain sheet of computer paper. He unfolded it and laid it out on the desk. Gwen and Lance crowded in unabashedly.

They remained silent for several long seconds.

“That’s…huh,” Lance finally said.

The three of them stared down at what looked like a random set of…what were they even? Runes? Hieroglyphs? Wing-dings?

Merlin ghosted his fingers across the symbols, scattered across the paper in no particular order. They’d been drawn with what looked like pen ink. He strained for some semblance of familiarity in them, but they stared back blank and unreadable as chicken scratch in the dirt

“Is it possible…are we just dealing with someone a little unhinged?” Lance voiced one of the thoughts drifting through Merlin’s head. He turned to Gwen.

“You’re the one who’s met her,” he told her.

Gwen sighed, still staring at the paper. She looked up reluctantly. “It’s entirely possible,” she admitted. “But she also didn’t…it didn’t feel…ugh, I don’t know.” She looked between Merlin and Lance. “I honestly wish I could dismiss it as that. I really do. But I can’t.”

“Then we won’t,” Lance reached for the small camera perched at the edge of his desk. “Hold it open, Merlin,” he ordered. “I’m going to see what I can find on my end of things.”

“Do you have time for that?” Merlin asked, obligingly keeping the paper flat as Lance took three successive shots.

“I can make time,” Lance shrugged. He smiled almost shyly. “I’m afraid I was a complete sucker for codes as a kid.”

“I don’t know that it’s  _code_. It looks like some language—“ Gwen trailed off again, tapping at the paper with one finger. “But yeah, we’ll need any angle we can get on this.”

“Let’s call Gaius now,” Merlin insisted. “I think we’ve held off long enough.” Gwen eyed him warily before nodding.

She watched Merlin dial Gaius’ number while Lance bowed his head to the paper again. As Merlin listened to the phone ring, he developed a sinking feeling that he’d be getting a mild berating out of all this.

“Merlin?” Gaius’ voice crackled into hearing.

“Gaius,” Merlin caught Gwen’s eye and offered her a reassuring smile. “Are you busy this morning?”

A pause and then a shuffle.

“What did you do?”

Ah. There it was.

“Why do you just assume—“

“Because you’re you, Merlin, and it’s a Saturday morning and I can think of no other reason for you to be contacting me.”

Merlin dug his hands into his hair and tugged. “It’s not just me,” he said carefully. “Gwen and Lance are involved too.”

He now had two sets of eyes fixed on him. Lance looked mildly amused. Gwen just exasperated.

“Gwen and—what’s the nature of this trouble then?” Gaius’ voice had shifted into something shrewder, and perhaps a bit curious.

“Er…could we explain in person?”

He heard Gaius sigh.

“Yes, alright. I’ll have the kettle boiling.”

“Thanks Gaius,” Merlin said fervently, sending Gwen and Lance a thumbs up. “I promise we wouldn’t be bothering you if it wasn’t important.”

“I could argue with that,” Gaius replied, and hung up.

***

Gaius was still stubbornly in his bathrobe when Gwen, Lance and Merlin showed up.

“I hope this will explain the general air of discontent I’ve been feeling around the office this week,” he called out as he led them into a warm, sunlit kitchen. “I had originally assumed that Arthur’s arrival was simply that disruptive.”

“You know how it is,” Gwen said as Gaius, true to his word, pulled a kettle off the stove, “when it rains it pours.”

“Or hurricanes,” Merlin offered.

“With a chance of hail,” Lance added, lips quirking. Gaius looked back at the three of them, crowded on one side of this kitchen table, and looked as if he very much wanted to roll his eyes.

“Let’s see it then,” he sat down instead, the tea left behind on the counter to steep. Merlin pulled the envelope from his bag and lay it out on the table. In a relaying narrative, he, Gwen and Lance explained where the envelope and paper had come from, and how they’d been dealing with it. Merlin watched Gaius’ brows not rise to his hairline, but fall lower and lower over his eyes like weathered crags of rock. It made something shift nervously in the pit of his stomach.

Lance went to handle the tea as Gaius spent several silent minutes poring over the symbols on the paper. No one seemed willing to do anything more disruptive than that.

Finally, as Lance came back with mugs of tea for everyone, Gaius straightened and removed his spectacles. He eyed the three of them again, although this time less with irritableness and more with wariness.

“I’ve only ever seen a few lines of text resembling these,” he said, tapping the paper. “They came from an 11th century set of scrolls that, in turn, translated scattered texts from the Golden Era of the Triple Goddesses.”

“That…how old it that?” Gwen asked.

“That, my dear, predates the rest of recorded British history by several hundred years. If you want a number, scholars have a rough estimate that the Old Religion thrived from 2000 BC to 600 AD. These runes came from before that.” Gaius had gone back to squinting at the paper.

“So it tapered off right around the Medieval Ages,” Merlin heard himself say.

“Mm,” Gaius agreed. “Give or take a couple hundred years, of course. Most agree the Roman Empire and rise of Christianity more or less wiped it out.”

“It helps narrow the field as to who this woman might be,” Lance offered. “Someone who has access to very select literature.”

“Or someone raised in this knowledge,” Gaius lifted his head. “Several pockets of magic users keep knowledge of these runes. It’s heavily protected material.”

“Then why put in on a sheet of computer paper and hand it over to a DMM employee?” Gwen asked. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

“Maybe she wants to cause trouble,” Merlin shrugged, and even as the words left his mouth, something heavy clicked in his brain. He sat frozen for a moment, then reached out and tugged the paper out from under Gaius’ nose.

“Merlin—“

“Freya,” Merlin fumbled with his phone as he pulled it out, adrenaline quickly coalescing into excitement. “Freya’s been dealing with ancient runes, magic from the Old Religion. And it was someone female and really powerful and—“ he looked up. “I—I think this is all connected,” he pressed.

He could see confusion from Lance and Gwen and something like stunned pride creeping into Gaius’ face. He quickly ducked his head to frame the paper and take two photos. He then sent the pictures to Freya, adding  _Anything here look familiar? Answer as soon as possible!_

“Wait…so you think Freya’s issues have to do with this?” Gwen asked slowly.

“That’s exactly what he’s saying,” Gaius stood, moving to his bag of papers perched on a far counter. He returned with a few printouts, splaying them on the table so Lance, Merlin and Gwen could get a better look. Everyone stood to lean over them. “Samples of what Freya’s been seeing,” Gaius explained.

Merlin looked over three black and white images of sigils carved into what looked like rusting water pipes. He flicked over to the letter, and tried to decide if the runes there had any connection.

“This,” Lance suddenly reached out to trace a sigil on the picture of a water pipe, then moved to Cara’s paper. Both images looked like a prehistoric version of an “R”, though the rune in the letter was thinner and had small dots lining the left side. But they looked too alike to be purely coincidental.

“Here too,” Gaius pointed to a rough circle with a series of slashes running across it, both in the printouts and on the paper.

“You know what I think,” Lance straightened. “This is the same alphabet. But the runes are just written out in the letter; they’re not a conduit for any kind of magical energy.”

“What do they say though?” Merlin asked, staring hard at the runes and feeling like he ought to be catching something and failing spectacularly.

“You know as much as I do,” Lance shrugged.

“So,” Gwen leaned back in her chair, fingers caged over her mouth. “Can we assume Cara wrote both? Is the handwriting similar?”

“I can have a professional give her thoughts on it,” Lance offered eagerly.

“Be that as it may, I want to consult with a few of my peers,” Gaius began folding up the letter. “If I might have the original…”

“I’ll send out the photos I took,” Lance offered. “And get in touch with Mithian about a handwriting analysis.”

The four of them looked at one another across the kitchen table, and Merlin wondered if they were thinking the same thing as he was; forget necromancers, this was easily the biggest thing their office had come up against since the pixie incident of 1974.

***

Arthur sat in Morgana’s kitchen with three tabs open: one in the search for his own flat, one tab with his email, and one playing an episode of _Breaking Bad_.

“Working hard on that flat?” Morgana asked on her way to the sink, twisting her hair into a bun on top of her head. Her pajama t-shirt hung like a curtain from narrow shoulders.

“Mm,” Arthur kept his eye on the screen, and so had to feel rather than see the eye roll Morgana sent his way.

“If I’m that terrible a guest, you’re allowed to kick me out,” he said above the clatter of Morgana digging the orange juice out from behind the milk carton Arthur had bought that morning. “Leon wouldn’t begrudge giving up his couch.”

“You’re more entertaining here,” Morgana threw over her shoulder, and somehow that made Arthur glance up to watch his stepsister pour a tall glass of the orange juice. She turned around, caught his glance, and raised her eyebrows.

“You know of anyone who’s renting?” Arthur asked. “I’d forgotten how tedious this whole process is.”

“Mm,” Morgana shook her head as she took a swig of orange juice. “Ask around the building Monday though, that may help.” Something gleaming entered her eye. “Sure Vivian would be glad to give a few suggestions.”

“I’m not—okay, I’m going for a jog,” Arthur snapped his laptop shut and tucked it under his arm. He’d just reached the threshold into the hallway when glass shattered in the kitchen behind him.

Arthur whirled around in a thrum of adrenaline and found Morgana staring into the middle distance, broken glass and orange juice blooming at her feet.

“Mor—“ Arthur lost track of the word as he tossed his laptop on the couch and ran across the room to where Morgana began blinking rapidly. He hesitated, eyed the still-spinning shards of glass, then rounded the kitchen’s island to reach her from the back. He placed two hands on her shoulders and shook gently.

“Morgana,” he said in a low voice, and he heard her inhale sharply, as if she’d been holding her breath.

“It’s falling apart,” she said in a breathy voice. “The earth is cracking open and everything is falling apart.”

“Shh, it’s not real.”

“People are dying.”

“Morgana—“ He felt her move to turn and tightened his grip. “Careful,” he ordered. “Broken glass.”

“Glass,” Morgana parroted, then glanced down. Her pale toes wriggled on the tile, against orange juice that had begun to seep past them. “Oh.” She had the blank, confused voice Arthur hadn’t heard for years and that had always elicited a specific expression on Uther’s face. Arthur had hated that expression, used to hate Morgana for putting it there.

“Easy,” he kept his voice low as he took a few steps back, his hands still firmly on Morgana’s shoulders. “I can clean it up. Just don’t cut yourself, that’s all. I’m shit with a first aid kit, you wouldn’t want me poking ointment at you.” He may have been rambling, but it seemed to relax Morgana’s shoulders slightly, and she backed up with smooth, firm steps.

“Fine,” she shrugged, and Arthur’s hands fell away immediately. She turned around, and Arthur was met with full eyes of grey, and perhaps this was where he’d gone wrong last time, perhaps this was where he’d lost her, where his sister with the teasing smile and confident step had looked away for too long, and the next time they caught one another’s eye she’d had his murder in her gaze, maybe this time—.

“I—“ Morgana huffed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’d like to sit down.” Arthur agreed for a moment, until the smoke in his head cleared out. Then he blinked and wondered how long they’d been standing there without saying a word.

“Here,” he steered her with a light touch to the back of her arm towards the bar stool standing a few paces behind him. “I can get you water or something. Let me get the glass at least.”

Morgana didn’t protest. She ended up staring into the (plastic) cup of water Arthur had given her, while Arthur sopped at the juice with a pad of paper towels and plucked at shards of glass. They let the sound of Arthur’s movement fill the kitchen for a while.

As Arthur brushed snowflakes of glass from his hands over the bin, he briefly considered the possibility of making some transparent excuse, walking into his room, waiting until Morgana left the flat for one errand or another, then moving on with his day as if nothing had happened. They could stick the whole thing in a neat box as Uther had done, place it in the highest shelf and politely ignore it when it rattled.

And maybe it’d turn out better than last time. Maybe. Probably not.

Arthur sneezed abruptly.

“Don’t get sick, Gwen’s stressed as it is with that project,” Morgana murmured. Arthur eyed her across the kitchen island, then padded across the kitchen to perch on the bar stool opposite his stepsister. He folded his hands on the granite countertop, examining the neat cuticles.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “This been happening a lot recently?” His words came out in awkward packages. He couldn’t even remember the last time this topic had come up. He sensed Morgana shift in the periphery of his vision.

“Since October,” she said, her voice stiff, almost challenging. “Gaius’ treatment began wearing off.”

“What did he say?”

“Gave me a few other treatments. None stuck very well. I haven’t…he thinks I’ve been clean since mid-January.”

“And?”

“And it’s been getting worse.”

“Nightmares?”

“And hallucinations.” Arthur looked up at the same time as Morgana, and caught the deep furrow between her brows. “Those are getting thicker and thicker, Arthur, it…” she trailed off and looked to her right, her hand coming up to brush her mouth.

“Who else knows?” Arthur asked, when Morgana didn’t speak.

“I sort of broke down to Gwen on Friday morning,” Morgana admitted. “But she’s perfectly safe. Wants me to tell Gaius, of course, but safe.”

“You should. Tell Gaius, I mean. He’s on your side, he just wants what’s best for you.” Morgana shot him a look Arthur couldn’t quite decipher.

“He ran out of good options months ago,” she said.

“Just to have his support. His opinion,” Arthur argued. “You’ve said yourself, he’s the best in the business.” A beat of silence. “What are you going to do?”

“Dunno,” Morgana traced a pattern into the counter. “Muster through it. Hope to _god_ it doesn’t happen while I’m driving or in the middle of an interview.”

Morgana twitched her gaze up before she glanced away again, parted her lips, closed them, swung back at Arthur with a tick of her neck.

“Well, now you know,” she tossed up empty hands suddenly. “Your freak sister is back. Sorry about that.”

“You were always a freak,” Arthur shrugged. Morgana’s eyes crinkled just a little at the edges, and Arthur felt an odd flutter of something he could only call hope.

Or maybe it was guilt? Trepidation? He couldn’t tell, and it was gone now, anyway, and Morgana was startling and suddenly talking about the cycling class she had at nine.

“Are you sure you want to go?” he asked as Morgana stood with a scrape of stool leg against tile. She hesitated, one hand on the counter.

“It clears my head,” she nodded. “I’ll be fine, I don’t usually have them twice in the same day.”

“No, right, I just—“ Arthur cleared his throat and didn’t mention that he felt like there was something they weren’t saying. But Morgana was practically vibrating with nervous energy, and he waved at her vaguely. “Just…I want to be helpful and everything. We can talk about this later, yeah?”

“Later,” Morgana nodded, then left the kitchen in a series of determined strides.

Arthur watched her leave, hoping they hadn’t just inadvertently dropped this into Uther’s box with that term, “later.” It seemed a shame to do so.

***

After Morgana left, Arthur prowled the apartment in starts of pent energy. He opened his laptop a few times, stared at the screen blankly, then closed it again. When he’d repeated the process for the third time, he pulled out his phone in a pique of annoyance.

[Arthur] _Hey Leon, you up to anything?_

[Leon] _Not much. Me and Perce are trying to set up a game. Want in?_

Arthur would have denied the grin plastered across his face when the texted back.

[Arthur] _Definitely_.

An hour later, Arthur had only gotten mixed up once on his way to a small park tucked in the western edge of the city. The grass was still mildly damp from the drizzle they’d gotten that morning, but the field was broad and flat, and Arthur decided he’d enjoy the extra challenge the mud would provide.

He found Elyan and Gwaine juggling a beaten football between them, wrapped up in multicolored layers against the chill.

“Pendragon!” Gwaine called out as Arthur jogged to them. “Didn’t know you’d be joining.”

“You would if you looked at your phone once in a while,” Elyan caught the ball in his hands and tucked it against a hip. “Figure out the buses alright, Arthur?”

“Getting there,” Arthur grinned, something warm thumping back into place inside his chest. He’d felt it last night, oddly enough, but had assigned it to the beer and seeing Leon after so many months,

Standing in a chilly football field beneath a grey sky really should not have elicited such a reaction, especially with what had happened just a few hours ago. But there it was: the sight of two men he barely knew, breathes misting and faces bright with cold, made him feel inexplicably centered.

“You going to have to tie that hair back?” Arthur nodded at Gwaine, the wave of cheerfulness threatening to spill over into a stupid smile. Gwaine laughed as if unsure whether or not he’d just heard a joke.

“Sound like my mum,” he said, then ticked up his eyebrows. “Want to put it up for me, Princess?”

He was as annoying as ever, Arthur decided. And for goodness sake, a few millennia still hadn’t gotten rid of that ridiculous nickname—

“You have a preferred position, Arthur?” Elyan asked, tossing the ball from hand to hand.

“Forward or midfield usually,” Arthur said after another heartbeat of collecting scattered thoughts. He glanced automatically towards Gwaine whose grin had devolved into something that looked mildly confused. “But I’ll go wherever you lot put me.”

Something flickered in Elyan’s expression as he looked between Gwaine and Arthur, but any further reaction was cut off by Leon and Percival’s arrival.

“Oh good, you didn’t get lost,” Leon greeted Arthur, getting a rough shove to the shoulder in reply.

“Perce, Perce,” Gwaine clapped a hand on Percival’s bared arms, shaking his head. “You can’t tell me you’re warm enough. Sleeves, mate, you might have heard of them.”

“Jealous?” Percival asked, and Gwaine rolled his eyes and threw up his hands to collective guffaws.

“All right gents,” Leon accepted the bag slung over Percival’s sleeveless shoulders and opened it to reveal a few more scuffed footballs. “Let’s warm up a bit before Cenred’s lot show up.”

“Are we playing them, then? Excellent, I still owe Cedric a kick in the ass for that foul last week,” Gwaine brightened considerably, right before Leon tossed a ball into his midsection. That devolved into a brief scuffle of what resembled dodgeball, until Elyan wrangled it into a proper passing warm-up. Then a light jog around the field, followed by taking turns shooting, and between the cheerful name-calling and egging on of one another, Arthur felt Morgana’s wide eyes slip away from his thoughts.

“Arthur!” Percival called out, and Arthur made an awkward leap to the side to trap a flying football with his chest.

“Here they come,” Elyan waved at a group of about six people trotting across the field.

“Who are these guys again?” Arthur asked Leon in a low voice, approaching him with the ball perched on his hip.

“Cenred’s in the police force with us,” Leon explained. “His unit and mine have a…friendly competition going.”

“Friendly competition?”

“Oy Cedric!” Gwaine hollered from Arthur’s elbow, causing him to jump. “You think I don’t remember that trip last week? Gonna have you eating mud, you little shit!”

A collective groan of “ _Gwaine_ ,” rose from Leon’s team, until a rat-like, lean man who Arthur could only assume was Cedric started suggesting places Gwaine could stick his—

“Alright, girls, keep the testosterone to a minimum, yeah?” Cenred tapped Cedric’ shoulder with the back of his hand, cutting him off. The man was still grinning wolfishly, and Arthur glanced behind him to find a similar expression on Gwaine.

“Glad you could make it,” Leon strode forward to shake Cenred’s hand. “Give you another ten minutes before we pound your asses into the ground?”

“Oh aye,” Cenred winked, and Arthur’s felt his breath hitch for a split second when the man’s eyes flicked over to him. Cenred jutted his chin. “New recruit? Haven’t seen him around the station.”

“Nah, this is an old mate of mine,” Leon gestured Arthur forward. “Has a new position in town with the DMM.”

“Cenred, was it? I’m Arthur,” Arthur accepted the hand Cenred offered him, feeling his standard public smile appear on his face. Cenred was still looking at him a little too long, a little too hard, and Arthur slipped his hand from Cenred’s grasp with a twitch of muscle.

“I know you,” Cenred said suddenly, and his face split into a grin that made Arthur’s stomach sink. “Pendragon. The Arthur Pendragon?”

Arthur felt Leon tense beside him, and he knew in a moment of clarity that if he gave the right signal, Leon would head the questioning off. Arthur had felt that same levelheaded alertness at his shoulder too many times to not recognize it.

“Yeah, fresh from London,” Arthur shrugged loosely. He sensed Leon relax beside him. “Tell you what, never get tangled with druids. Absolute nightmare.”

Arthur couldn’t get a good reading on Cenred’s reaction for a moment before he grinned easily.

“I’ll bet. Tough luck, mate.” He turned his attention back to Leon. “Ten minutes you said?”

“Ten,” Leon agreed, and the men left each other to return to their respective teams. Arthur felt Leon give him a brief glance. Arthur, absurdly, wanted to clap him on the shoulder and say something like, “he’s only a police officer now,” or “do you remember we used to stand together like that all the time? Before…”

And when Arthur tried to chase that thought, it disappeared into the dusty back halls of his mind.


	9. Chapter 9

“Open spot!”

Morgana jerked and yanked the wheel to the right, just making it between a massive red truck and a silver Passat. She killed the engine as Arthur yanked his bag up into his lap, then coughed experimentally. She waited, one hand on the door handle, the other on her seatbelt.

“I—“ Arthur coughed again. “You can let me know if you have a…” he gestured vaguely in her direction, and Morgana had to bite down the urge to laugh. She was afraid it’d come out a shade hysterically.

“They’re not all that traumatic,” she promised Arthur, then reached out and mussed up his hair because she didn’t know how else to handle this version of her stepbrother. Morgana clacked open the door to the sound of Arthur’s cries of outrage, and noted the little lift of cheer in her chest.

“God’s sake,” Arthur emerged from the other side of the car, running his hands across his hair. “We’re not ten anymore.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Vivian likes the messy puppy dog look,” Morgana promised, and turned away before she could get the full effect of his glower.

“What do you mean he’s asking for it _next week_?” Gwen’s voice carried through the door even before Morgana had reached the bottom of the stairs. She chanced a glance back at Arthur, then pushed the DMM office’s door open to reveal Gwen and Gaius standing on either side of Gwen’s desk. Gwen had her hands in fists; Gaius rubbed at his temples. Merlin perched at his own desk, looking between the two like he expected something to explode.

“I tried to explain to him the nature of the Belford project, but he’s being very insistent,” Gaius said.

“Well tell him the data isn’t even finished being collected!” Gwen snapped, collapsing back into her chair. “And the blueprints are still being reviewed by Isolde, and it’s _impossible_ for me to pull a full list of recommendations for the board out of thin air _thank you very much._ ”

“Gwen,” Merlin said in a low voice, and she waved him away with a sharp jab.

“It’s the election season, Gwen, he wants something solid to show,” Gaius said, voice firm. “We saw the exact same thing with the Faerie reports, and we managed that just fine, didn’t we?”

He offered Gwen a small, wry smile, the kind Morgana remembered receiving in her childhood after an episode, when Gaius gave her tinctures to sooth her nerves and promised that no, Uther didn’t hate her.

Gwen sagged and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Right,” she huffed. “Right, I know. Just with everything else—“ she seemed to notice Morgana and Arthur for the first time and shut her mouth with an audible click.

“Let me guess, the Aggravator?” Morgana asked, walking smoothly forward and hooking an arm around Gwen’s shoulder. She pressed Gwen against her hip briefly. Gwen gave a low snort.

“Hope you don’t call him that to his face,” Gwen said.

“Who?” Arthur asked, still standing by the door. “Who’s the Agg—wait. Uncle Agravaine?”

“You’re not going to defend him, are you?” Morgana asked, releasing Gwen with a final, small squeeze and moving to dump her bag on her desk. Before Arthur could offer any kind of reply, Gaius rapped his hands together and looked around the snug office.

“I’m calling an impromptu meeting,” he said, voice clear. “We’ve had a sudden landslide of events, and we need to sort them out before things develop any further. Everyone in the meeting room in two minutes.” Without waiting to hear a reaction, he bustled into his office. Morgana looked around at Gwen and Merlin as the sounds of ruffling papers and low mutterings drifted from Gaius’ office.

“Is everything all right?” she ventured, receiving put-upon looks in reply.

“Busy weekend,” Gwen finally said, then abruptly pointed at Arthur. “You’re calling your uncle and knocking some sense into him,” she stated. “He really picked the worst possible time to pop in here looking to gather political points.” Arthur gaped.

“Why not have Morgana do it?” he asked.

“Don’t you remember last Christmas?” Morgana asked. “I don’t think he’d so much as buy me lunch at this point, much less let me argue with him properly.”

“Yeah, well, I’m probably in the same boat after the druids,” Arthur snapped. He hesitated, and Morgana saw his face shift into one of mild consternation.

Morgana suddenly ducked her head and shuffled at the innards of her bag.

“Oh,” Gwen said, her voice thin. “Well.” Morgana heard a shuffle, a creak of a seat. “I guess that’s another good reason to tell him no.”

Morgana looked up and, somehow, caught sight of Merlin. He had an expression she couldn’t identify, something painfully open and burning. She shifted her gaze away automatically and straightened with her planner in her grip.

“I can try though,” Arthur was adding tardily. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

“You know what? Don’t,” Gwen said, making her way towards the meeting room with a straight back. “If I know Agravaine at all, it’ll only give him the satisfaction of turning you down in the most humiliating way possible.”

“I—yeah, probably,” Arthur took a step forward, hand raised at Gwen’s retreating back, and for a split second Morgana saw the scene as it must have been millennia ago. Arthur carrying the new kingship, Gwen blooming and proud, Merlin watchful and waiting. And Morgana herself….Morgana herself…

“Morgana?” Morgana twitched her neck to find Merlin watching her from across his desk. She felt a delayed wave of panic that he’d seen her in the middle of a seizure, but that hadn’t been anything like her usual attacks. Nothing like it at all.

Morgana shifted her gaze past Merlin to find that Arthur was already disappearing into the meeting room after Gwen. She looked back to Merlin and grinned loosely.

“Sorry,” she chirped. “Blanking out.” She waved a hand. “Mondays.”

“Right,” Merlin’s smile did not reach his eyes.

When they’d all settled in the meeting room, Morgana looked around and decided that the miasma of unsettledness had reached everyone at this point. Even Gaius, normally unflappable, looked hunched and wearied.

“To start,” Gaius folded his hands on the tabletop. “We’ve had several incidents of magic that seem to be connected.” Morgana listened, hand over her mouth, as Gaius described merfolk not being where they should be, of a sorceress named Cara who was, they suspected, using frighteningly ancient magic and harassing Gwen and Merlin.

It shouldn’t have made something ring with familiarity in Morgana’s gut. It really shouldn’t have.

“Are we trying to find this woman?” Arthur asked, leaning over the table with his arms crossed.

“I’ve spoken with Leon and explained the situation,” Gaius sighed out the words. “They have her physical description, and she’s in the network now as a potentially dangerous sorceress.”

“But if she’s really using these ancient, powerful magics,” Gwen held open hands to the air. “She can go into hiding easy as anything.”

“As I am well aware,” Gaius leaned back in his seat. “Which is why—“

Distantly, Morgana was aware that she’d made a rough, guttural sound. But that was back in her physical body, and at the moment Morgana’s mind screamed with lights and movement and voices and there was Arthur, and there was Merlin, Gwen, Gaius, Uther, Leon, spearing through her mind’s eye in blurs and snatches of words. It was like hurtling through empty space and having no idea where the bottom lay.

The woman’s face tore through all of that like a sudden flashlight beam in a dark room. Morgana marveled at her, fixed on her dark eyes because they were _steady_ and they looked at her with something so similar to kindness.

“Morgana.”

Morgana would have liked to answer, but her mouth had been left back with her body. “Morgana,” the woman repeated. “You’re tarrying. You need to come find me.”

 _Find you where_? Morgana thought. _Who are you?_

“I’ve laid it out for you already,” the woman tilted her head. “You’ve already come so close to finding me, your courage just failed you in the end. Just come here so we can talk properly. We’re all far too close to the edge.”

 _I don’t_ —

“—at this point the best we can do is stay alert,” Gaius said.

Morgana sucked in air through flared nostrils.

“Freya says she’s looking over the hydromancy sigils again and comparing them to the letter’s runes,” Gwen volunteered. “And we have Mithian doing the same so between them we ought to come to _some_ conclusion.”

Morgana stared at the table, her hands gripping at her chair seat. The visions had never been that _strong_.

Arthur was saying something, but Morgana’s blood was pounding too loud in her ears to sort out his words.

“Morgana?” The voice was low and private.

Morgana tried not to flinch at Merlin’s voice. She looked over and found him leaned toward her, his eyes sharp. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Morgana didn’t think they needed to. It didn’t even cross her mind, at that point, that she’d never told Merlin of her hallucinations.

“—think it could have something to do with the Morgause figure you were investigating, Morgana?”

“Mm?” Morgana jerked her head back to the table. Gwen, Arthur and Gaius were all looking at her expectantly.

“Morgause,” Gaius repeated. “She got rid of a poltergeist and wasn’t registered? It could be a connection.”

“I—it’s possible,” Morgana said. A beat of silence, and she suddenly said in a firm voice, “I mean no. No, they’re not the same person.”

“And you know this how?” Arthur pushed.

 _Morgause has blond hair_. _Not brown._

“The timing doesn’t add up,” Morgana waved a hand. “How would she be in York and Alnwick at more or less the same time? Traveling that distance would use too much magic.”

“This isn’t someone dabbling in magic,” Arthur insisted. “She’s using ancient sigils. She’s damned powerful.”

“Morgana’s right,” Merlin spoke up. He didn’t meet Morgana’s eye as he continued. “It’d be odd to think that the same sorceress was bouncing between three cities and wasting all that energy. Morgause probably has nothing to do with Cara.”

Arthur still looked unconvinced.

“It’s a thought to keep in mind, that’s all,” Gaius said. “At this point all we can do is theorize and argue. I wanted to keep everyone abreast of developments.”

“So what do we do next?” Arthur asked. He was nearly hovering above his chair. So like his old days.

“We wait for Freya and Mithian to give their thoughts,” Gaius leveled a look at Arthur. “We concentrate on our current tasks. We’re not here to leap into the fray and swing swords, Arthur, much as I know you enjoy doing so.”

The room, for a split second, seemed to grow dim and cobwebbed. But the moment passed, and Morgana was really too rattled to pay it much heed.

Everyone slowly stood and departed from the room in shuffles and pensive expressions. Morgana tried to find Merlin’s eyes again, but he left the room in too much of a hurry.

***

The next week passed shrouded in uneasiness. Everyone seemed ready to hear news of some grand disaster in a major city. Floods, Morgana imagined, or riots or fires. Leon, Elyan, and all the rest were on alert, Morgana knew.

But every day brought the same new. Nothing to report. Nothing unusual.

It felt like the beginning of a battle, Morgana decided the next Tuesday. A hurry up and wait situation; she’d always hated those in the old days. Men got irritable and horses antsy, and the battle itself became a blessed relief.

Gwen dumped a stack of papers on her desk, and that made Morgana jerk her head up and forget what she’d been thinking about.

“Lady and Gentlemen,” Gwen announced, hands on her hips and hair spiraling from her head. “I have before me the first draft of this thrice cursed Belford project. The light at the end of the tunnel is now visible.”

“How far away is the end of the tunnel though?” Merlin asked. Gwen flicked at the back of his head.

“Don’t, Emerson,” she scolded. “I need my victories where I can get them.”

“We’re all very proud of you, Guinevere,” Arthur called out. “When this whole thing is over we can get ragingly drunk to celebrate.”

“Might have to get ragingly drunk before then,” Gwen regarded the thick stack of papers with a resigned expression.

“Well right now I’m ragingly hungry and am going on a lunch run,” Morgana announced. “Anyone have requests?”

“I’ll go with you,” Gwen said. “I need to see something beside a computer screen for a while.”

After Merlin and Arthur had submitted their lunch requests (“What do you mean you don’t have a falafel place nearby?” “I’ll get you a sandwich, Arthur, it’ll be fine.”) Morgana and Gwen suited up for the cold and, as had been their habit, speed walked to one of the nearby cafés.

They chatted about inconsequential things while they waited in line and then while they waited for their orders to be ready. It was nice. Talking to Gwen was always nice; she had such a fresh, gracious way of looking at things. Morgana decided that Camelot must have been a good place under her rule.

“—but you know how Elena is. Total sweetheart, but I’ve had to email her at least three times about the data and—are you listening?”

“Of course,” Morgana blinked. “Elena. Emails.”

“Sorry. You had a bit of a thousand mile stare,” Gwen readjusted her hat. “So in any case, once Elena gets that done I’ll be able to move ahead.”

They had collected the brown bags containing their lunches and were halfway down the block when everything blanked out.

Morgana had thought that the last hallucination she’d had, the one at the meeting, had been a strong one. But there, she’d at least drifted into it. Now, she lost any and all contact with her physical body as she hurtled down roads that she’d already memorized. There was the cottage and there was the blond woman with the kohl around her eyes.

“Morgana.” She stood in front of a low fireplace. “I am begging you.”

“Why are you chasing me like this?” Morgana demanded, her throat tight. “Leave me alone.” She paused then, because she’d never been able to speak in these visions. She dropped her gaze and found a flickering version of her own body.

“Because this is important,” the woman insisted, and Morgana lifted her head again. “More important than you know.”

“God, drop the mysterious act,” Morgana snapped, taking an experimental step forward. “If you need to tell me something so badly, tell me now.”

“I need to give you something more than tell you,” the woman tilted her head. “And I can’t give it to you unless you approach me of your own free will. It’s a bit ridiculous, of course it is, but it’s the rules.”

“Why?” Morgana insisted. “Why the hell should I just come because you call?”

The woman smiled. She ambled toward Morgana in a manner that might have been called predatory. Morgana could not step backward, could not protest, as the woman placed her lips at the cusp of Morgana’s ear.

“You have greater things waiting for you here,” she murmured. “We need you.”

“Morgana!”

Morgana _hurked_ and opened her eyes. Brown, curling hair hung over her. It framed Gwen’s frantic face.

“Oh god,” Gwen’s hand lay across Morgana’s cheek. “Oh thank _god_.”

“I’m fine,” Morgana said in a shockingly steady voice. Gwen wiped at one eye with the palm of her hand. Morgana reached up to grip at Gwen’s wrist. “Gwen,” she murmured. “I’m fine.”

“Didn’t look fine, that’s all,” Gwen said a bit damply.

Morgana expanded her awareness of her surroundings. First she found Gwen’s arm propping her head and upper body. She felt the winter wind biting at her exposed skin. She saw an iron grey sky, buildings, and finally the people peering at her.

“So…should I call an ambulance?” a man asked.

“No,” Morgana said before Gwen could reply. She braced herself against the concrete and eased herself to a sit. Gwen’s hands hovered near her, as if to catch her. “No, I’m fine. I do this occasionally.”

The man gave her an incredulous look, but he put down the mobile that had been poised in his hand. Several others started to turn away, or to lose their curious expressions.

Morgana ignored them and tilted her head to Gwen.

“How long?” she asked.

“Nearly a minute.”

“Longer than usual,” Morgana moved to stand. Gwen helped her, and Morgana didn’t push her away. Methodically, Morgana bent to gather the bags she had dropped, smiled blandly at the lingering spectators, and said to Gwen, “Can we sit somewhere for a minute?”

“Yeah,” Gwen nodded too hard. “Yeah sure.”

They walked in silence for another block before they reached the Waterstone’s. Morgana angled for the front door. Gwen followed after a split second of hesitation. Still without speaking, they went to the science fiction and fantasy section near the back. The two worn couches waited for them, and the women sat across from one another with the lunches collected near their feet.

Morgana exhaled and folded her hands in her lap. She could feel Gwen watching her, and let her do so. She focused her attention on the rows of book spines. A memory fell into her mind.

“Is this where you talked to Cara?” Morgana asked.

“Yes.”

Morgana tightened her lips and met Gwen’s steady gaze. “That’s…a bit odd.”

“A little too coincidental,” Gwen agreed. Her gaze didn’t waver at all. That was when Morgana understood that whatever she was starting to suspect, Gwen already knew on some level.

“Do you know the character Morgause?” Morgana asked. She kept her voice low, as if someone might eavesdrop.

“Arthurian legend,” Gwen all but recited. “A half-sister to King Arthur. Also a sister to Morgan Le Fay. Mother to Gareth, Agravain and Gaheris. The details vary, of course.”

“You been researching this?” Morgana asked.

Gwen nodded once.

Morgana blew out a steady stream of air and rubbed at her eyes.

“Morgana,” Gwen murmured. “What did you see?”

“A blond woman. The woman I’ve been seeing for…well, the past month almost. She lives in Alnwick. I think she was the one to banish the poltergeist. She wants me to go see her.” Morgana sucked in a mouthful of air. “She says she wants to give me something. I think her name is Morgause.”

“Gwen, what’s _happening_?” Morgana asked. Her voice came out thin.

“Something we don’t understand yet,” Gwen said in a firm voice. “I think it’s all connected. This Morgause woman. Cara. The merfolk. Ancient sigils.” Gwen hesitated. “Things…things happening to all of us.”

Morgana frowned, but Gwen was still speaking.

“But are you going to go down to Alnwick again?” Gwen asked. “I think that’s one of the big questions right now.”

“I’m…I’m afraid that if I don’t, she’ll get more and more insistent,” Morgana admitted. “Even if it’s nothing…I’m more afraid of what will happen if I don’t address it.”

“Okay then,” Gwen nodded. “We can go today, if you want.”

“We?”

“You’re not going by yourself,” Gwen leaned forward. “So don’t even argue that one.”

“It might be dangerous.“ Morgana’s voice faltered at the word ‘dangerous.’ Dangerous wasn’t supposed to happen to people like her and Gwen.

“I don’t actually care,” Gwen said. Her voice had become hard. “I’ve already felt in danger too many times the last few weeks. I’m…” she buried one hand in her hair. “I can’t even describe it. I feel like we’re on the cusp of something huge, like we’re all straining at the edge and at this point I’m so tired of waiting for things to tip. I want to go ahead and jump.” She shook her head and bit her lip. “I sound insane.”

“No you don’t,” Morgana said. “Not at all.” She took a steadying breath. “Let’s jump.”

***

It wasn’t so hard to drop off the lunches and then make hasty explanations that an assignment had come up and that both Morgana and Gwen had to attend to it. Merlin and Arthur were more invested in the food and Gaius was busy on the phone. He waved a hand and told them to behave themselves.

Neither Morgana nor Gwen spoke much as they went down to Morgana’s car. They spoke even less during the drive. It wasn’t a long way, but Morgana still could have born a faster commute. Every nerve in her body buzzed with adrenaline.

“Should we have told them what we’re doing?” Gwen asked at one point, when they were only ten minutes outside of Alnwick.

“How?” Morgana asked, and Gwen fell silent.

In the end, it was sickeningly easy to find the roads to the little cottage. They had been branded into Morgana’s mind too many times to be forgotten. Gwen watched Morgana navigate the narrow roads but didn’t comment.

The destination, when they reached it, was deeply unremarkable. It was the kind of small house that came from a different era but had been brought into the new millennium with some grace. Flowers filled the garden. A chicken coop was just visible. Fields containing grazing livestock spread out in the distance. Morgana pulled into the small driveway, shut off the engine, and stared at the cottage with her heart hammering in her throat.

Something small and warm caught at her hand. Morgana looked down, then squeezed Gwen’s hand back. The women climbed out of the car and, when they’d rounded the front of the car, almost immediately clasped hands again. In truth, that was probably what got Morgana all the way to the front door. She glanced at Gwen, then raised her fist and knocked three times.

A blond woman opened the door and her smile was like a sun.

***

Gwen could tell that Morgause didn’t really want her there. Even as the woman gave her a cup of tea and said “A pleasure to meet you,” when Morgana introduced her, Gwen felt the reluctance. But Morgause also didn’t give Gwen the fight or flight reaction that Cara had, and that counted for something.

So Gwen sipped her tea and stayed on alert as Morgause sat in the chair next to Morgana and leaned toward her almost hungrily.

“I know the visions were trying,” Morgause was saying. “But there’s a method to these things and I couldn’t have done it any other way without negating everything else. The old magic doesn’t account for individuals’ comfort so much.”

“So you’re definitely a sorceress,” Morgana said. Her tea sat in her hands, unsipped. “Did you banish the poltergeists?”

“I do things like that once in a while,” Morgause nodded. “It’s a nice challenge. This time, I was also hoping that it would prompt you to find me. Close, but it didn’t happen.”

“You know,” Morgana placed her cup on a side table with a thick _thunk_. “All this talk about me finding you and such. It’s a bit stalkerish. Essence of serial killer even.”

Morgause’s smile could only be called wry.

“The old methods can be jarring in our modern society,” she admitted. “They have roots in another era. We used to be a lot bloodier and more superstitious as a species, you know. It’s nothing I can help.”

Morgana nodded once and glanced at Gwen, as if seeking her judgment. Morgause, Gwen had decided, was not entirely of this era either. Her words had a different cadence to them, her mannerisms less familiar. She moved like something not entirely tamed by things like electricity and indoor plumbing. But Gwen couldn’t say that now, so she shrugged and pursed her lips. Not trust, but not fear either.

“Fine,” Morgana turned to Morgause. “Talk. Who are you? Why are you trying to find me and what do you want to give me?”

Morgause grinned, bright and full.

“You will have everything,” she promised. She arranged her skirt and folded her hands in her lap.

“My name is Morgause and I am a High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess. One of nine.” Gwen sucked in a breath. Morgause looked over at her with raised eyebrows. “I’m glad you recognize the significance of that, Gwen. Most scholars, even most druids, would say that the priestesses died out millennia ago. But old magic isn’t killed off so easily. A line of priestesses has survived the years. Thin and ragged, but present. We’ve preserved the true roots of magic, and I am one of the few in this era who hold the knowledge.”

“Is Cara one of them too?” Gwen asked.

“Cara?”

“Um, blue eyes. Very pale skin. Seems to specialize in hydromancy.”

Morgause’s face shuttered.

“I know whom you’re describing,” she said. “And yes, she’s also a High Priestess. Recently sworn in; one of our younger members.”

“She’s been coming to us,” Gwen leaned forward, her heart rising despite herself. “She’s been causing havoc with hydromancy and leaving us letters with old runes on them—“

“I know this,” Morgause sighed. “Believe me, I know this all too well. She’s part of the reason I needed Morgana here.”

Morgana shifted her position.

“So?” she prompted.

“In short,” Morgause turned to Morgana again. “Albion’s magic is broken. The High Priestesses understand that they need to fix it. And to do that, they need more power. We need to recruit more priestesses.” Morgause reached out to grasp at Morgana’s hand. “We need you to join us.”

Gwen stared.

“What?” Morgana managed.

“It’s not ideal,” Morgause continued. “You should have been found and recruited when you were a child. You should have been raised in the holy sites like I was. You would have drunk water that sprang from the womb of the land itself and eaten the fruits of sentient trees. You would have had magic, pure and unadulterated, soaking into your bones through your entrance into womanhood.”

Morgana shot a look at Gwen. Gwen had been right; nothing about Morgause was entirely of their world, and if Cara had been raised soaked in the old magic too, that was probably why she could make Gwen feel so on edge, why Gwen felt the magic rolling off of her in waves.

“You’re sounding creepy again,” Morgana said gamely, pulling her hand away.

Morgause’s lips lifted in one corner.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not trying to.”

“And as a side note,” Morgana continued. “I don’t have magic. I feel like I’d notice.”

“You haven’t noticed your visions?” Morgause tilted her head.

“Visions? I—“ Morgana’s face fell. “My hallucinations? My seizures?”

“Visions,” Morgause corrected her. “A hallmark ability among priestesses.”

“But…” Morgana’s hands clenched and unclenched. “Druids can lift things with their minds and conjure fire and…for god’s sake, I just collapse and see snatches of things. That’s _useless_.”

“It’s not your fault,” Morgause said in a gentle voice. “You haven’t had a lick of training. It’s a shame that a potential priestess ended up in Uther Pendragon’s house. That’s part of the reason we had such a hard time recognizing you. The sorcerer Gaius put up wards and gave you suppressants, on Uther’s insistence. You became fuzzy and indistinct in our visions.”

“What changed?” Morgana asked faintly.

“Leaving London and Uther helped immensely,” Morgause said. “London is a madhouse of untethered magic, and Uther wasn’t helping anything. We started seeing you clearly about three years ago. I was assigned to recruit you a few months ago.”

Morgana took a breath and looked down at her hands.

“So,” she said methodically. “What now?”

“I ask you to join us,” Morgause said. “If you agree, you’ll come with me and we will begin an abridged version of your training. You will be part of the force that stitches back together the tears in Albion’s magic.”

“About that,” Gwen spoke up. “What exactly is wrong with the magic? We haven’t heard a peep from the druids. Didn’t even know that magic could get…tears.”

Morgause’s expression became a tad less friendly, but Gwen was far beyond being intimidated by High Priestesses.

“Magic, at its roots, is tied in with the land,” Morgause shifted in her chair. “And magic shifts in response to how the land changes. That is why the nature of magic is never quite the same from era to era. The land is not a static thing.

“Usually, druids and sorcerers and the like tap into the shallow wellsprings of the land’s magic. That magic is fluid and easy to mold. It’s like topsoil. But if one digs deeper and deeper, the soil turns to rock. That’s where the deep wellsprings of magic lie; the source of everything. It’s where the High Priestesses find their magic. That land, that magic, does not change. Or it changes so slowly that humans could not hope to track it.”

“So the point?” Morgana asked.

“The point,” Morgause said with a lift of her chin, “is that something is broken down there. Some rift has sprung up in the last few decades. At first we thought it was harmless, but it’s been getting larger and more dangerous. The druid elders and more sensitive sorcerers took note several years ago, and soon the more casual users of magic will start to feel it too. It’s like…like a tremor building up.”

“Like an earthquake,” Gwen supplied. “An earthquake of magic. Wait. Is _that_ what’s been making the merfolk stick around this winter?”

“So you have noticed that too. Yes, we’ve spoken to the merfolk and they tell us of a deep disturbance in the land. They’ve been converging on the area to address it, just as we are.”

“How on earth do you fix something like that?” Morgana asked.

“I’m not sure whether I could explain it,” Morgause shook her head. “You’d need knowledge that you don’t have.”

“But why hasn’t the DMM heard anything about this?” Gwen insisted.

Morgause smiled a little pityingly.

“My dear, the non-magic users like to think they understand magic as much as they need to. How do you think they’d react to druids saying something like that? In all honesty?”

“Then why has one of your priestesses been stalking the DMM office?” Gwen asked.

“Ah.” Morgause rubbed at her forehead briefly. “Nimueh has proven to be a…source of trouble for us.”

“Nimueh?” Gwen asked. “That’s _Nimueh_?”

“You’ve heard of her?” Morgause frowned.

“Well I mean…Nimueh was a character in Arthurian legend,” Gwen set down her tea. “She’s the one who trapped Merlin—the sorcerer—in the crystal cave. She’s supposed to be extremely powerful.”

“She was,” Morgause said slowly, still frowning. “The Nimueh of old was a force of nature, they say. We allowed the current Nimueh to take that name because she shows such promise. But recently,” Morgause hesitated, like she didn’t want to say the words aloud. “Well to start, she’s been abandoning her duties, refusing to help us in our task of recruiting new priestesses. She insists that we alone cannot fix the rift and has taken it on herself to find other methods. She’s young; it would be forgivable if we weren’t in such need of every abled priestess. And there’s the matter of…well.” Morgause’s smile was self-conscious. “She’s been insisting that she _is_ Nimueh. That she has come back. Which is ridiculous of course.”

“Why is it so ridiculous?” Morgana asked. “Since when is reincarnation not allowed?”

“It doesn’t happen like that,” Morgause scowled. “When a being dies, their soul is absorbed in the energy of the world. They don’t stay themselves. Even a priestess as powerful as the old Nimueh wouldn’t be able to hold her soul together through all these millennia.”

A beat of silence.

“Well it’s not just her. She implied that I’m,” Gwen nearly smiled. “That I’m Queen Guinevere. Which would make Arthur King Arthur and you Morgan Le Fay and you Morgause, sister to Morgana and possibly Arthur. The stories are iffy.” Morgana and Morgause glanced at one another, both looking incredulous.

“Wait,” Morgana suddenly looked at Gwen. “So Merlin is supposed to be…like _the_ Merlin?”

“Supposedly,” Gwen shrugged.

“Emrys?” Morgause straightened. “Emrys can’t even die. You say you know him?”

“He works in our office,” Gwen shrugged. “He’s got big ears and is ridiculously clumsy.”

Morgause looked more than a little affronted.

“Why on Earth would Emrys be mortal, willingly or unwillingly?” she asked. “That would be…no, this just proves that Nimueh is spreading nonsense.”

“I mean, Merlin doesn’t have magic,” Morgana pointed out.

Gwen was about to sigh and admit that was true, but something stopped her.

“Whether or not your Merlin is Emrys,” Morgause spoke up, “Whether or not Nimueh is speaking truth or nonsense, that doesn’t change my original message to you Morgana. We need your help and we need it soon.”

Morgana’s hands fiddled with one another.

“Could I have a few days?” she asked.

“We don’t have time to dawdle,” Morgause said. “We’re not sure how much worse the rift could get.”

“I get it,” Morgana said. “I really do. But can it spare, like, a week?”

Morgause bit her lip.

“A week,” she allowed. “I’ll be coming to you again when that time is up.”

“Right,” Morgana nodded her head. She licked her lips and asked, “what happens if I say no?”

“Nothing,” Morgause said. “But it will make our work that much harder. We have high hopes for you, Morgana.”

“So you’re going to guilt me into this?” Morgana asked, smiling slightly.

Morgause didn’t smile back.

“If that’s what it takes.”

***

The drive back to Newcastle wasn’t all that better than the drive to Alnwick. Morgana, Gwen could tell, was lost in her own haze of thoughts. Which was fair enough for someone who had just found out that they possessed magic and might be joining a clan of priestesses. Gwen let her be and instead watched the landscape speed past.

“Gwen,” Morgana asked at one point.

“Hm?” Gwen looked over.

“Do you think we’re reincarnated characters from Arthurian legend?” Morgana’s voice was so deadpan and the question so ridiculous that Gwen snorted. Then the snort turned into a giggle, which became a belly laugh. Morgana started laughing too, and within a few seconds they were both cracking up while speeding down the highway.

“Oh god,” Gwen wiped at her eyes. “We’re living in a novel right now.”

“I know,” Morgana hiccoughed. “We really are.” She buried one hand in her hair. “Ahhh, what happened, Gwen? I’m pretty sure that this time a month ago my biggest issues were split ends and filling out reports.”

“Same,” Gwen sighed and slumped in her seat. A beat of silence. “I think possibly, by the way.”

“Possibly?”

“Possibly we’re…somehow connected to the Arthurian legends. “ Gwen scrubbed at her face. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just crazy.”

Morgana didn’t reply.

***

Gwen rode the bus home with neither book nor music. Instead, she stared at her folded hands and lay out the threads of her life. Morgana’s hallucinations (visions?), Morgause, Cara, priestesses and ancient magic that shouldn’t still be viable, merfolk populations acting odd, Merlin looking more tired than usual these days, Arthur trying to fit in, T.H. White’s _The Once and Future King_ , the niggling sense that…something was happening.

Gwen inhaled suddenly and rubbed at her eyes. She and Morgana had gotten back to the office too late to catch Gaius and Merlin, but Gwen was still sorely tempted to give the latter a call.

But when Gwen got into her flat, she tossed her keys into their basket and stared at the recently acquired piles of books on Arthurian legend. She released a quiet groan and made the executive decision to head straight to bed.


	10. Chapter 10

When Gwen entered the office the next morning, she found Lance and Merlin shoulder to shoulder as they peered at Merlin’s desk. Arthur and Morgana were gathered around the desk as well.

“—I feel like father would have told me if we had a—Gwen!” Arthur cut himself off when Gwen let the door shut behind her.

“Hey,” Gwen said, blinking at the way everyone’s shoulders looked stiff and hunched. “Hi Lance. Um. Was there a memo?”

“News on the Cara situation from Freya,” Merlin waved a sheet of paper.

“Oh,” Gwen rushed over and wedged into the space between Arthur and Lance, peering at the paper. “Brilliant. Let’s hear it then.”

“Right,” Lance held up one finger. “First. Mithian and Freya both agree that the magic sigils in York’s water pipes, and the runes on Cara’s letter match. It’s not definite, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility that Cara is our mysterious water sorceress. I think at this point, we can put some trust in that theory.”

Gwen caught Morgana’s eye. Morgana dropped her gaze to the table and Gwen bit her lip.

“Second,” Merlin jumped in, “We have headway on the letter Cara gave us thanks to Lance here and a few days of hard research.”

“Just the language,” Lance grinned bashfully, so like Gwen remembered him as a knight that it made her chest ache. “But the runes best match a language that was probably last used in the British Isle around 2000 BC, which, interestingly enough, correlates with the beginning of the Old Magic era.”

“Any headway on a translation?” Arthur asked.

“Unfortunately no,” Lance grimaced. “Most of the linguistic and history experts I called agreed that we know the language existed, but not a very clear idea on how to read it. It has fundamentally different roots from most language families of that era.”

“Shame,” Arthur mused, eyes still on the printouts Lance had brought. “Be nice to know if she’s trying to give us an actual message or spewing gibberish.”

 “Well,” Gwen spoke up, working to keep her voice steady. “I don’t think we ought to assume that it’s gibberish.”

Morgana’s eyes widened. Gwen lifted her eyebrows, because what else were they going to do? Sit on their knowledge?

“Why not?” Arthur asked

“We,” Gwen paused in case Morgana wanted to take over. When Morgana remained mute, Gwen pushed forward. “We went out to Alnwick yesterday to investigate Morgause Gorlois.”

“Yeah you said that,” Merlin nodded.

“And we found her. And she’s…well she _claims_ to be a High Priestess of the old magic.”

Three faces gaped at her.

“High Priestesses?” Lance asked. “We have High Priestesses?”

“No,” Arthur cut in. “We have people _claiming_ to be High Priestesses.” He looked around at the group. “I’m sorry, but if I had a pound for every time someone swans about claiming to be part of some…ancient order of sorcerers,” he threw up one hand.

“But if this really is a High Priestess,” Merlin said in a voice nearly too quiet to hear. “Then I’m not surprised we missed them. If they wanted to hide, they have the power to stay hidden.”

Morgana was looking downright ill at this point.

“Well whether or not Morgause is a priestess, she told us a few things,” Gwen said. “Her main point was that there was a…a rift in the land’s magic. Something’s broken and the priestesses are trying to fix it. But she also mentioned that she knows Cara, and that she’s also a High Priestess. Only her name isn’t really Cara. It’s Nimueh.”

Merlin jerked so physically that his knee banged into the desk. Lance glanced over but Arthur was too busy scrutinizing Gwen.

“So we have a woman who thinks she’s a High Priestess running around causing trouble?” he asked, face screwed up. “Well that’s just wonderful news, isn’t it?”

“But what if this is all true?” Gwen straightened. “What if Cara—Nimueh—really is a High Priestess? That’s power we haven’t ever really dealt with.”

“Do you really—“

“I’m assuming the worst case scenario,” Gwen cut Arthur off. “If you’ll recall, that’s always been the safest bet, no matter the situation. Do you not remember Lord Weshall? The only reason we were able to keep his silly grab for the throne in check was because we assumed the worst of him, especially after that ridiculous speech he made during the Winter Solstice feast. We’d have been fools to underestimate his threat then, and we’d be fools to underestimate this threat now.”

Arthur’s mouth closed with a small snap.

“No, you’re right,” he said, and suddenly he was grinning at Gwen the way he used to grin across the table in the main hall of the castle, when she’d just made a resounding point to a whole collection of advisors and nobles. She could just see it in her mind’s eye: the sun making his gold hair light up, the blood red of his tunic, the heavy drape of her dress, the low buzz of Camelot’s traffic outside the window, the nobles and advisors looking more than a bit miffed at being proven wrong by the person who the commoners now affectionately called things like the Servant Queen and the People’s Queen.

And Merlin. Merlin always in the corner, listening, watching. Gwen had always appreciated his presence in these meetings. Arthur was her husband, but he also had a role as king to play. Merlin, she felt, never had to be anything but a servant, and so he could also be her friend.

Gwen blinked suddenly, because she had a deep ringing in her ears that made everything blur for a brief moment.

“I—I guess—“ Gwen cleared her throat and rubbed at her temple distractedly. “Worst case scenario,” she repeated a little uncertainly.

She found Arthur rubbing at his ear.

“Right,” he straightened. “I won’t argue with that.”

A heavy silence hung over the room. When Gwen’s eyes drifted over Merlin, she nearly started at how hard he was staring at her.

“I’ve sent an update to Gaius,” Lance said, and Gwen self-consciously shifted her attention to him. “And you’d best let him know about what this Morgause said. I think you’re right, Gwen. Best not to take any of this lightly.”

“Well,” Morgana clapped her hands. “This was a productive meeting, but I think we all have other tasks we need to get to still this morning.” Gwen had to work hard not to glare at her. Morgana didn’t look in her direction, so it wasn’t as if it mattered anyhow.

Lance bid everyone a cheerful goodbye, and the remaining four drifted off to their desks eventually. Gwen sat down at her computer to find the pile of papers for the Belford project. She was still feeling fuzzy and disoriented, and she experienced the sudden desire to toss the whole thing off of her desk.

Instead she shot a glance at Morgana, who was studying her computer screen like it held the secrets to all their budgeting problems. Gwen huffed, dug out her cellphone, and sent a text to Morgana.

_Are we pretending that yesterday didn’t happen? Why was I the one who had to bring up Morgause?_

Morgana didn’t respond to her buzzing mobile immediately. When she did read the text, she didn’t look at Gwen.

 _Just give me some time_ came the reply a few minutes later.

Gwen felt herself deflate a bit, then sent back, _This is going to drag out and you’re going to insist we ignore it forever. It’s how Pendragons work._

_Believe me, I can’t ignore this._

_Meaning?_

_I had two hallucination last night after I got home. And one this morning. It’s like Morgause opened something._

Gwen shot her head up to find Morgana’s hand trembling slightly where it sat on the mouse. Morgana turned her head ever so slightly toward Gwen, then picked her phone back up.

_I’m scared._

Gwen closed her eyes briefly.

 _Don’t be_ , she texted back. _I’m here. If you want, Merlin, Gaius and Arthur will too._

_Arthur hates magic users._

_I wouldn’t be so sure._

Gwen frowned slightly down at that last text. How did she have any basis at all for saying that?

 _Maybe_ , Morgana replied. _Give me until tomorrow to gather myself._

Gwen took a long while to answer.

 _Fair enough_ , she finally sent.

***

Merlin stuck his headphones in as soon as he started clattering down the steps that led to the tube. It had become habit over the last week or so.

He collapsed into a plastic seat, tilted his head against the window, and exhaled long and hard. He could feel the events of the past few weeks sitting on him like a heavy weight. And for a while, Merlin was perfectly happy to sit unmoving and let the tube carry him home.

 _Merlin_.

If Merlin, theoretically speaking, wanted to discuss a disembodied voice in the underground, he would admit that it had started off entirely ignorable. Just a tickle in the back of his head, really. And (continuing the theoretical nature of this thought exercise) it might have been getting bigger. More insistent and certainly ruder. And Merlin might have started getting into the habit of listening to the loudest, most boisterous songs he had on his iPod, the volume cranked up enough that his fellow tube travelers could hear it and gave him dirty looks. And that it didn’t seem that this voice was much cowed by this small act of defiance. It just got louder.

_I don’t think you want to see how much louder I can get, young warlock._

Merlin flinched and thumbed at the volume control, but it was already at maximum and rattling his eardrums.

 _You’re going to make yourself deaf,_ came the theoretical voice.

“Rather be deaf,” Merlin muttered into his scarf.

_You really haven’t changed._

Merlin grimaced and, theoretically, replied, _Yes, well, neither have you. Mysterious voices from the underground; I’d have thought you’d be able to come up with a new method._

Something like an earthquake shook Merlin’s magic. It took him a moment to identify it as a laugh. A laugh produced by something very big and very old.

The train car hitched, and Merlin straightened with a small grunt. He blinked around at the usual array of sleepy, pale-faced commuters making their way home for the evening. His stop was still another ten minutes away, so he sank back into his coat.

_Get off at Monument station._

Merlin squinched his eyes shut. It was, he decided, like he stood a few paces away from a room. He had a hazy guess of what was in the room even if he couldn’t see its contents. And he knew that eventually, he’d have to step into the room and accept what he found there. But at this point he was still loitering and hoping no one would notice.

 _I’m afraid nearly everyone has noticed,_ came the voice. _That’s what happens when you let things go on for too long._

 _Would you get out of my head?_ Merlin scowled at the floor.

 _I’m only at the surface level of your thoughts, no need to get snippy,_ the voice sniffed. _I don’t have any other way to make you pay attention. You’re a stubborn thing._

_That makes two of us._

A beat of silence.

_Will you get off at Monument?_

_What happens if I do?_

_I guide you here and we have a long-overdue talk about some of your recent decisions._

Merlin exhaled. It was a little disconcerting, because he had no idea what the voice was talking about, and at the same time felt like a child who knew exactly why it was about to get scolded.

He shifted and squinted at the tube map. Monument was a few stops before his. He tried to imagine what lay in that area of the underground.

_I lay there._

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin muttered. He crossed his arms and sighed. The voice must have known that he’d already made his decision because it didn’t bother him for six long minutes. When the train slowed at Monument station and opened its doors with a long _hiss_ , Merlin sagged to a stand. He yanked the headphones from his ears, stuffed them in his coat pocket, and sauntered out to the platform.

A man in a three-piece suit with a saxophone was busking a little ways away from him. Other than that, the station was more or less empty. No one was hanging around, too eager to get homes, heat up dinner and plop themselves on the couch. Merlin spared a fleeting, longing thought for his own flat and for George and for the leftover soup waiting for him in his fridge.

 _You’ll get there eventually,_ the voice came, not unkindly. It seemed to be in a better mood now that Merlin was following its directions. _You’ll want to take the green line to its end at South Hylton._

 _Right_ , Merlin mentally huffed.

The ride to South Hylton was similarly uncrowded. The platform, once Merlin disembarked for a second time, was empty.

Merlin crossed his arms automatically and felt his magic rise to just beneath his skin.

 _Do you see the red door?_ the voice asked.

 _The one that says_ Do Not Enter, Employees Only?

_That’s the one._

_Are you asking me to do illegal things?_

_Only mildly illegal._

_I’m a government employee you know,_ Merlin said as he approached the door, casting a quick glance around him. _This kind of thing goes on my record if I get caught._

_Best not get caught then._

Merlin jiggled the door experimentally.

 _Locked,_ he announced.

_Clearly. Now, if you were to open that door through regular means, you would find nothing more exciting than a supply closet._

_But let me guess, there’s another way to open it._

_The spell is straightforward. Simply repeat after me._

The sound that entered Merlin’s head sounded heavy, convoluted, and entirely unrelated to English. Nevertheless, a moment later, it slipped out of Merlin’s own mouth like his native tongue.

 _It_ is _your native tongue,_ the voice said. _Surely you don’t think that some hodge podge bastardization of French and German is your nat—_

 _Right. Thanks,_ Merlin wiped a hand across his face. When he’d spoken the spell, he’d felt something deep _thunk_ into place. Now the door, previously inane, pulsed with an energy that Merlin felt more than saw. He tugged his coat closer around his torso and opened the door.

He walked inside.

The door emptied into a curving tunnel. Merlin peered down the long, dim space. His breathing echoed off of the walls.

 _Is this an abandoned tunnel?_ He asked.

 _Hello?_ Merlin paused. “Hello?” he called out.

Merlin looked behind him to find a blank wall. No door in sight.

“Well,” he said. His voice reverberated against the brick. “This is extremely encouraging.”

Merlin considered poking at the wall until it revealed the door again, but something in him, his magic perhaps, suggested that he’d not be allowed to leave until given permission. Merlin swung his head back to the tunnel and, after a moment of consideration, sent a tendril of magic down the tunnel.

He jerked when, after a few seconds, he found the aureole of something that radiated with power. Merlin withdrew his magic with a small, sharp inhale.

“You know,” he called out. “Now would be a magnificent time to put my nerves to rest.” The silence at this point was predictable.

“Fine,” Merlin rubbed at his eyes. “Fine. If I die down here, honestly, it’s my own fault. Following disembodied voices. Gaius would have my head if he knew about this.”

Merlin conjured a small, bobbing ball of light and began walking. His footsteps reverberated eerily against the curved ceiling of the tunnel, making it sound like he had a host of pursuers when, in reality, whenever he glanced behind him he found no one at all.

Merlin must have been walking for five minutes when he realized that the floor was slanting down. The angle was not steep, but it made Merlin wonder at how deep he was descending. Unbidden, he thought of Gwen describing a rift in the magic of the land. Perhaps this was to do with the High Priestesses. Or perhaps something older.

Ten minutes after starting out, Merlin rounded a corner expecting to find more of the same sloping tunnel.

Instead he found a cavern.

The tunnel emptied into a massive space that swallowed up the light of Merlin’s bobbing ball. He shuffled to the edge of the drop-off, peered over, found pitch black, and took several stumbling steps back.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

Suddenly, something thunderous and whooshing filled the cavern. And a second later, the source of the massive power that Merlin had sensed earlier winged into view. Merlin yelped and fell on his ass, and simultaneously got hit with a dizzying sense of déjà vu.

“ _You_ ,” he gaped from his position on the floor. “I don’t— _you_!”

“Me,” the dragon settled on an outcrop of rock and folded his wings against his sides. “It’s good to see you too, young warlock.”

“No no no no,” Merlin struggled to stand. “No, you don’t get to young warlock me. Not after everything—wait.“ Merlin scrunched his eyes shut with a surge of vertigo. “Do…do I know you?”

“You seemed to a second ago,” the dragon said with far too much amusement in his voice.

“I know, that’s the weird par—oh.” Merlin’s face fell as he gazed up at the dragon. “This is to do with Gwen talking about lords and Arthur telling me I haven’t stopped crying over magical horses, isn’t it?”

“You tell me,” the dragon flicked his tail lazily, like a giant and toothsome cat.

“Fuck,” Merlin said with feeling. “Fuck this…what’s going on?”

“I don’t know the whole story actually,” the dragon yawned. “My job has been to get your attention and then convince you to finally remove the silly spell you’ve lain on yourself. Give yourself your memories back, and everything should be quite clear.”

“How do I just give myself my memories?” Merlin asked, aware of how his voice was rising in pitch. “I don’t even know what I’ve forgotten.”

“Please. From what I can tell, these memories have been leaking everywhere. Just nudge everything open.”

“Nudge everything open.” Merlin made a face.

“Just try. You’re panicking and making this difficult.”

Merlin hesitated. Because perhaps he was putting up a fuss because there was a reason he’d wiped his own memories in the first place.

“Am I going to regret this?” he asked the dragon.

“You’ll regret it more if you refrain,” came the unhelpful reply.

“Wonderful,” Merlin exhaled. And feeling supremely awkward, he gave the back of his mind an experimental poke. Things roiled back there, he knew. If he had any hidden memories, they’d be there.

“I don’t think this is workin—“ Merlin had to cut himself off then because his mind surged with scenes that were seriously overriding his ability to think in a straight line, much less make comprehensive words. And as Merlin gaped up at the dragon, he could all but see the floodgates in his mind that had been straining and leaking the past few weeks suddenly burst open. It hurt. It was also such a relief that Merlin thought he might cry.

Merlin had no idea how long he lay there, the dragon’s yellow eyes glowing through the dimness. The little ball of light surged gamely at Merlin’s side, like a dog faithful to its owner. When Merlin blinked back into the present, he slid his eyes over to Kilgarrah.

The dragon tilted his head in a way that Merlin recognized as the equivalent of a grin.

“Welcome back,” his voice rumbled.

“Ugh,” Merlin grunted and eased himself into a sit. He gingerly touched his temple and examined his fresh set of memories. They sat there like relatives he knew existed but hadn’t seen since he was a baby, and now they’d shown up and expected him to treat them like old friends.

He glanced up at Kilgarrah, who was watching him with a gleam in his eyes.

“I…” Merlin swallowed. “Um.”

Kilgarrah rustled his wings. “Take your time,” he advised.

Merlin listened to him, and let himself settle down so he could methodically pick up each memory and examine it carefully before setting it back down. He stared into his hands as he did this, and Kilgarrah seemed content to wait for him.

When Merlin finally lifted his head, his back was sore and he felt as if he’d just taken several standardized tests in a row.

“Better?” Kilgarrah inquired.

“After a fashion. I could have used some warning, actually,” Merlin said. His voice sounded rough. “Hey Merlin, you’re a centuries old wizard of legend. Just so you know, before that… _crashes_ into your mind.”

“It was better to let you discover it yourself,” the dragon flicked his tail.

“Lord, you really haven’t changed,” Merlin stood and dusted off his jeans. He could feel himself starting to settle into the rhythm of these new memories. “This is exactly what you did last time. _It’s your destiny to save Arthur and usher in the golden age, Merlin. Let me give you the vaguest possible advice and then fly off, Merlin. Figure it all out yourself, Merlin._ ” The old pang in his gut wasn’t welcome.

Kilgarrah snorted, creating a brief blowtorch worth of flame.

“Be that as it may,” he said, “I’m not the one who decided to take leave of his memories.”

Merlin winced, shoved his hands into his pockets, and rocked back on his heels.

“Fine. What’s with you then?” he gestured to Kilgarrah. “No offense but I’m pretty sure you died a few millennia ago.”

“I did,” Kilgarrah sniffed. “And when you were gone for too long, Albion saw fit to bring me back in my entire.”

“It did?” Merlin blinked. “Why—” His vague bemusement thudded into panic. “Did it also bring back….shit. Oh shit. Everyone’s back. Gaius and Lance and Morgana and Gwen. And. Arthur’s back.” Merlin stood rooted to his spot, the adrenaline pounding through him. He gaped up at Kilgarrah. “I mean Arthur might make sense; he’s supposed to return in Albion’s time of need but. Why bring them _all_ back?”

“Perhaps,” Kilgarrah’s voice was deadpan. “It was trying to get your attention. You’ve been doing a spectacular job of ignoring it the last few centuries.”

“I’ve—“ Merlin ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve screwed up then, haven’t I?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the dragon mused.

“Oh shut up,” Merlin snapped. He took a few paces and compulsively rubbed his hands over his jeans. Gwen’s mention of a rift in Albion’s magic shot up to the forefront of his mind, like someone had conspicuously shoved it there. He had a pretty fair idea of what had done it.

“So…” he turned to the dragon. “There’s something wrong.”

“Something is broken in Albion’s magic, yes,” the Kilgarrah’s head dipped. “I have spent the last few decades probing it, and if it makes you feel any better, it was a crack that existed long before you decided to wipe your own memories.”

“Well that’s something.”

“It started back in the time of the Once and Future King and suddenly worsened in recent years. My guess is that you have something to do with it.”

“Oh,” Merlin’s shoulders slumped. “What did I do?”

“That I cannot say,” Kilgarrah shifted his wings in a shrug. “I had been hoping that you would know.”

“I don’t…” Merlin rooted through his memories of that first lifetime, when he’d been Arthur’s manservant and the true weight of his destiny wasn’t yet clear to him. It made him flinch a little; he never understood how those memories could be so old and so glass-sharp all at once. Merlin looked up at Kilgarrah helplessly. “I don’t know what I could have done. I was all about keeping Arthur alive at that point.”

“Mm,” Kilgarrah hummed. “Then, Emrys, you must look at the rift yourself and understand the problem.”

“Now?” Merlin’s shoulders sagged.

“You have abandoned it for too long,” Kilgarrah craned his neck forward. “Albion has been calling for your assistance and you have made yourself deaf. This is the price.”

“No, right,” Merlin muttered. He inhaled and scrubbed at his face. “Will you help?”

Kilgarrah’s voice softened. “As much as I can, young warlock.”

Merlin sat himself cross-legged, then suddenly smiled.

“Actually,” he said. “I think at this point I’m technically older than you, young dragon.”

“Impudent whelp,” Kilgarrah snorted. A grin still in the corner of his mouth, Merlin closed his eyes and, after a moment of hesitation, sent out a single tendril of magic.

He could tell that he hadn’t done this for a few lifetimes. When he’d done this in the past, the connection to Albion’s magic was instantaneous and electrifying, like a shock to his whole system. Now, for several awful seconds, Merlin couldn’t feel anything at all.

When Merlin did find Albion, it had an almost…reluctant energy to it. It didn’t snap up Merlin’s presence, but accepted it with more jostling than Merlin thought was really necessary.

 _Like a jilted lover_ , Merlin thought.

 _That’s probably a fair comparison,_ Kilgarrah mused.

Merlin braced himself and pushed forward. Albion resisted for a few moments before accepting him. In a rush, Merlin saw the land spread out before him, as if he sat in an airplane. It was night and the city lights glimmered like so many campfires. A shift in perspective, and Merlin saw the pulsing threads of magic weaving into one another like creeks and tributaries merging into a river. He could feel Albion directing his attention, nudging him to a place in the northern half of the country.

Merlin suddenly plummeted toward that area and stopped just over a small town that swirled with the lives of the humans and animals residing there. But Merlin was not paying attention to that. His attention was riveted on what could only be called a crack. A massive, gaping crack in the foundations of the magic that resided in the land there. Merlin could see it spider webbing out of sight, but it seemed clear that the impact point had been here.

As Merlin hung there, gaping at the rift, he felt a gentle swell of energy from the land. It had a sense of pain, a demand for action, and a quiet question of _where on earth were you?_

 _I ran away,_ Merlin admitted. _I was hurting and I ran away._

Albion didn’t understand. How could it, really? It loved the human lives that it supported, but it was nothing near human itself. That was what Merlin was for.

Merlin tried to scrutinize the rift, but he was only an astral projection. He’d do better to travel there physically and do a thorough investigation.

Merlin conveyed this idea to Albion, and after a moment it obligingly started to nudge him back toward his body. It had gotten what it wanted out of him.

When Merlin opened his eyes, Kilgarrah’s posture was sympathetic.

“Do you understand, Emrys?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“Yes,” Merlin didn’t move immediately. “It’s bad.”

“But not hopeless.”

“It’s going to take a lot of power to fix,” Merlin kept his eyes trained on the ground. “A lot. More than what I have.”

“You think I won’t offer my services?” Kilgarrah asked.

“Even you and I won’t be enough,” Merlin lifted his eyes. “We need more.”

Kilgarrrah snorted a plume of hot air. “Then we’ll have to find help.”

Merlin didn’t have any notion of where he was supposed to find this help. But he didn’t say it aloud.

Instead he pushed himself to a stand and started when his stomach growled grumpily at him.

“You would like to return home?” Kilgarrah guessed.

“I’m a little worn out,” Merlin admitted. Receiving one’s memories of the last thousand years did that, he thought grimly.

“Then we will remain in contact.”

“Sure,” Merlin frowned suddenly. “Are you going to keep hanging out down here then? Or—“ Merlin’s eye widened. “Wait, are you a prisoner?”

“It does have a certain dramatic irony to it, doesn’t it?” Kilgarrah flipped his tail. “Don’t worry too much, Emrys, I’ve only been captured for the last two decades; a blink in the eye for a dragon. And now that you have come to your senses, I don’t plan on staying here for much longer.”

“Do…you want me to free you? Only you can’t go on a murderous rampage this time,” Merlin warned.

“I can wait a bit more,” the dragon rumbled. “And when the time comes, I’ll refrain from snapping off Uther Pendragon’s fool head.”

“Right,” Merlin blinked. “Well. That’s good to hear.”

***

Merlin had eaten his leftover soup, watched a few episodes of _Top Gear_ , and collapsed into his bed when the weight of the last few hours hit him.

“Damn it,” he said to the ceiling, because how else was he supposed to react this? It was only deeply disconcerting, because some part of him still thought that he was a twenty something who’d been born in Brighton and had nothing notable about him save some unusual magic. When in all reality, he could remember setting up the enchantment that would wipe him of his memories.

Only now…Merlin’s breath hitched when he remembered that rules had been broken. Because everyone had come back. _Everyone_ , from Vivian to Will to Mithian to…

“George,” Merlin sat up suddenly. His cat opened one lazy eye, the closed it and twitched his tail. Merlin snorted and flopped back into his pillow. “Well,” he scratched behind the cat’s ear. “I guess there are worse ways to come back.” George began to purr. “Wonder if you remember anything,” Merlin mused. “Gwen, Arthur, and the rest do. They must. With the kind of things they’ve been saying.”

Merlin wondered if their minds were like his; leaking at the edges with all the memories they held. He wondered when they’d remember.


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur’s eyes snapped open.

For several long seconds, he stared at the ceiling and could not for the life of him figure out where he was. It was as if he’d fallen asleep during a car ride without meaning to, and woken up without any sense of location or time. Only in this situation, he’d fallen asleep beside a lake. And he’d somehow woken up…today? Thirty some years ago? It didn’t make sense at all

Then, with a hitched inhale, he remembered what a sword in the gut felt like. And he remembered Mordred’s face behind the blade.

And he remembered Morgana.

Arthur lay frozen on his mattress and felt the memories pour into him. When he blinked an indeterminate time later, he realized his eyes were hot and wet.

Arthur inched his way to a sit and swung his feet down to the floor. He looked down at them, then raised his hands to examine the shape of his fingers. The whorls of his fingerprints. He wondered if they were the same as they had been back then.

In a fit of decision, Arthur stumbled to a stand and moved to the mirror hanging on her wall. His face stared back. Familiar in the way that one’s face is always familiar. But now Arthur could see in his mind’s eye what it looked like with a heavy crown on top of it. Surrounded by chain mail. Arthur lifted a finger and ran it along his own cheek. It felt solid and warm. It felt real.

Arthur’s door slammed open. He whirled around to find Morgana all but leaning on the door handle, her eyes huge and her mouth slightly open.

“Oh god,” he heard himself say. “You too?”

Morgana nodded once.

***

A half hour later found them seated on opposite sides of the kitchen bar with the mugs of coffee Arthur had prepared in a need to have something to do. Neither had taken more than a few cursory sips.

“Or wait,” Arthur braced his fingers against the counter. “Do you remember that one time that Lord Petrach and Lord Ouran both claimed the same couple acres of land?”

“They dragged that thing out for the show of it,” Morgana said through the fingers caged over her mouth. “Uther was on a hair trigger all month.”

Arthur grinned down at his lap without meaning to.

“Have we settled this yet?” Morgana asked.

“I suppose,” Arthur lifted his eyes. “You know. Because it’s pretty unlikely we’d come up with the same memories if…if we’re hallucinating all this.”

“What would be causing hallucinations though?” Morgana asked, running her finger around the rim of the mug.

“A gas leak?” Arthur tried. Morgana gave him a look.

“No you’re right.” Arthur exhaled hard.

“Do you remember when I tried to kill you?” Morgana asked. Her voice came out remarkable steady.

Arthur laughed in one exhale.

“I wasn’t going to bring it up,” he said. “I like to think we had more years as friends than as enemies.”

“We did.” Morgana rolled in her lips and tapped a nervous staccato against the tabletop. “But that doesn’t…good god, Arthur. I was so angry. What _happened_ to us?”

“I let you down,” Arthur said almost immediately. It was nice that he had the knowledge so close at hand. “Uther let you down.”

Morgana’s fingers stilled.

“I don’t…” she blinked.

“You needed support when you found out about your magic,” Arthur bulled forward. “And we never gave it to you. We treated you as an enemy.”

“Right,” Morgana licked her lips. “That.”

Arthur cocked his head.

“What?” he asked.

“I think I still have magic.”

Arthur nodded, gratified that he already knew. “Visions?” he asked.

“Probably more. You remember…” Morgana did not quite finish that sentence.

“Well,” Arthur shifted in his seat. “It’s not so much a surprise this time around, I suppose. I mean, between you and Merlin…” he trailed off, surprised at how the stab in his gut. “Anyhow,” he continued. “We’re going to handle it better this time. I swear that to you.”

Morgana looked about to say something when the door suddenly shuddered.

“Morgana!” came a sharp female voice. “Arthur! Let me in right this moment or I swear I might kick this door in.”

“That’s…” Arthur sprang from the chair and all but sprinted to the front door. He could feel something in his chest expand and rise, and when he tossed the door open to find Gwen—lovely, harried, determined Gwen—he swore that it exploded.

“Oh,” Gwen managed before they simultaneously threw their arms around one another. Arthur buried his nose into Gwen’s neck and inhaled the scent that was still familiar after all these years. Gwen was definitely crying a little. Arthur was probably tearing up, but wasn’t set on admitting it.

“God,” Gwen said thickly when they pulled apart. She scrubbed at one eye. “I can’t believe…I mean, this is so _weird_. I knew something like this was happening, the memories were getting closer. Did you notice? And with Cara…but this isn’t even…it’s like I was in Camelot yesterday.”

“I know,” Arthur admitted. He found that he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from Gwen. It was odd, because he knew that he’d loved her too much to bear last time. Yet this time around, he’d known her for barely a month, hadn’t had a chance to really discover her yet. The conflicting senses swirled in his head.

“Morgana?”

Arthur blinked and realized that Gwen was peering past him, to where Morgana still stood next to the table. He turned and found Morgana staring at them like a frightened animal, like she wasn’t sure whether they might attack her. It broke something inside Arthur.

“I um.” Morgana took a step backward.

“Oh no you don’t,” Gwen shoved past Arthur, strode across the flat, and flung her arms around Morgana too. From his vantage point, Arthur could see the shock on Morgana’s face, before it crumpled into something pained.

He could hear Gwen and Morgana murmuring things to one another and got the distinct sense that they weren’t words meant for him. So he waited by the front door, his hands compulsively twining into each other.

“Okay,” Morgana sniffed when she and Gwen finally parted. “Okay.”

“Arthur.”

“Mm?” Arthur lifted his head.

“We need to figure out what’s going on,” Gwen said. “This all has to do with Nimueh and that rift in magic, I’d swear by it.” She was all queen. It made Arthur smile without quite meaning to.

“Bet you Merlin’s involved,” Arthur said, and Gwen and Morgana assented after the mildly awkward recollection that Merlin…and magic…all of that.

Calling Merlin’s mobile gave them nothing but voicemail. So on Gwen’s suggestion, they called Gaius. That was an awkward situation, because no one had any idea as to who had regained their memories, and blathering on about being a reincarnated version of King Arthur would probably not have gone over well.

But to Arthur’s infinite relief, after a vague: “So…you know Camelot?” the first thing out of Gaius’ mouth was: “Thank the high heavens. I was worried that I’d finally gone senile.”

“So you do remember…”

“Everything. Down to how much a troublemaker you were around the castle as a child. You know I never got the stains out of my floor from that incident with the pine pitch?”

“It’s good to have you, Gaius,” Arthur grinned. Gaius _harrumphed_ predictably.

“Well,” he said. “Is my fool of an apprentice over there with you? I’d bet you my month’s wages that he’s got something to do with this.”

“We tried calling him but only got voicemail,” Arthur admitted. “I left him a message telling him what had happened.”

“Really now?” Gaius mused. “Then either he’s in some trouble or he’s ignoring the situation. Either way we ought to go find him.”

“Okay,” Arthur nodded, ignoring the little jump in his gut. “Do you want to meet us at his flat?”

“May as well start there,” Gaius agreed. “I’ll leave immediately.”

“Same,” Arthur said. “See you in a bit.”

“Well?” Gwen asked when Arthur hung up.

“Gaius remembers everything,” Arthur said. “And we’re going to Merlin’s flat to find him. Gaius thinks he has something to do with this too.”

“Well if he’s Emrys,” Morgana supplied. “Then of course he does.”

“He is Emrys, isn’t he?” Arthur said. “He’s…he’s still just a manservant in my mind.”

“Merlin was never just a manservant,” Gwen reminded him.

Arthur found that he had to agree.

***

By the time Morgana pulled up in front of Merlin’s building, the butterflies in Arthur’s stomach were causing him physical pain. He wasn’t exactly sure as to _why_. He supposed that the fact that Merlin had been the last face he’d seen before dying had something to do with it. The rather jarring discovery that his stupidly loyal manservant was the most powerful sorcerer to live. That Merlin had, in all likelihood, saved Camelot more than once and Arthur’s life too many times to count.

All Arthur really knew was that as he, Gwen and Morgana climbed the stairs to Merlin’s apartment was that he was mildly nauseous and therefore annoyed at Merlin for causing such a reaction. Arthur wasn’t sure who’d given him the right.

Gwen was the one to knock three times on the door with its peeling paint. Ten seconds later, they heard something crash on the other side of the door.

“Merlin?” Morgana tried.

Another bought of shuffling, and then the door swung open and Merlin stared out at them with his face even paler than normal.

The butterflies in Arthur’s stomach promptly doubled.

For a long moment all of them stood there, Merlin’s eyes darting between them.

“Can we come in?” Gwen finally ventured.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin blurted. “I’ve messed everything up and…this is my fault.”

“No one’s hurt,” Gwen said in a gentle voice. “We’re fine. Let us in and we can talk.”

Merlin opened his mouth, closed it, then took a step back and held the door open. When the three of them had filed into the flat and Merlin had closed the door, the tension could be cut with a knife.

“I feel like you ought to be arresting me at this point,” Merlin suddenly said, as if desperate for something to say.

“Arresting?” Morgana asked.

“Do you not remember…?” Merlin prompted. Three blank stares. Merlin cleared his throat. Swallowed. “Ihavemagic?” he rushed.

“Oh,” Gwen’s face cleared. “Well, yes. I do remember that. Even if you never had the good grace to tell me yourself.”

“It’d only be a bit rich of me to try to order your arrest,” Morgana supplied gamely. “Since I’m apparently in the same boat.”

“Honestly,” Arthur heard himself say. “We’re more concerned with the apparent fact that we used to be kings and queens and such.” He met Merlin’s wide eyes and tried to smile. “It’s a lot to take in in one evening.”

“Yeah,” Merlin rasped. He blinked hard. “Lord. You’re all really back, aren’t you. I didn’t…” And in typical Merlin fashion, he started to tear up.

Arthur stepped forward almost without meaning to. He captured Merlin in a hug that swept the butterflies aside and just left Arthur with an overwhelming sense of rightness.

Merlin released a muffled squeak, then tightened his arms around Arthur’s middle as well. He was saying something in a low, rhythmic voice.

“I couldn’t save you,” Arthur finally managed to make out. “I couldn’t save you. I tried too hard and I couldn’t manage it.”

“Shh shh,” Arthur rubbed at Merlin’s back. “You tried. It’s fine.” He looked to Gwen and Morgana for help, but they gave him identical expressions of ‘this is between you two.’

“I missed you so _badly._ It was horrible.”

“I’m here again, aren’t I?”

“And I...I’m sorry I kept my magic a secret so long,” Merlin continued thickly into Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur wordlessly tightened his grip.

“Like I said,” he said in a low voice. “That wasn’t my main concern.”

“Well it had to have been some concern,” Merlin pulled away to look at Arthur properly, sniffing and wiping at his eyes. “Unless you’re about to tell me that I was panicking for nothing.”

“Fine,” Arthur moved his hands to grip at Merlin’s shoulders. “The magic is a fairly significant thing to address. Eventually. But Merlin, I forgave you for all that…thousands of years ago. It’s done.”

Merlin blinked owlishly. It was such a classic Merlin expression that it made Arthur ache.

“It’s just as well,” Gwen spoke up. “Otherwise I’d have to remind Arthur of everything you’ve done for him and Camelot.”

Merlin released a wet laugh.

“Good to see you too, Gwen.”

And predictably enough, in the next moment, she and Merlin had practically tackled one another in a bear hug. Arthur glanced at Morgana and found her watching them with an odd expression on her face. Merlin must have seen it, because after a little while, he pulled away from Gwen and they both looked over at Morgana.

“Don’t do that,” Morgana scowled suddenly.

“What?” Merlin asked.

“Pitying me.”

“Why would I pity you?”

“Because I went bad, didn’t I?” Morgana snapped. “I betrayed you and tried to kill you. All of you. Several times.“

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who tried to kill you first,” Merlin said, his expression serious again. “Listen, Morgana, can we leave it be? We both made bad decisions. I just…I want us to be friends again. Like we’ve been the last few years.”

Morgana frowned and looked around at the three of them.

“So that’s it? You’re forgiving me too? Why are we all forgiving each other so readily?” she asked, her voice high. “I tortured Gwen and killed Elyan and Gwaine and—“

“In my opinion,” a voice said from the door. “The older one gets, the less time one has for grudges.” Everyone turned to find Gaius closing the front door behind him. He eyed them all, his eyebrows in their usual I’m-not-impressed-by-your-attitude position. “And we are all, unless I’m mistaken, very old souls at this point.”

A beat of silence.

“That’s probably true,” Merlin finally said, and then strode across the room to give Gaius his due hug.

“You’d do well to listen to me more often. I’m not quite a senile old man yet,” Gaius told him when they parted, his eyes gleaming. “Well,” he looked around the room. “Is this it then? Or do we have other former knights and ladies stumbling about with a sudden influx of memories?”

Everyone automatically looked at Merlin.

“Um. I’m not actually sure. I…” Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Then I suggest we all take a seat and listen,” Gaius said. Merlin nodded, a little reluctantly, and they slowly moved to the battered couch and tables that matched Merlin’s old car in style.

Merlin remained standing in the middle of the living room, pacing and wringing his hands and basically being thoroughly Merlin.

“Ok,” he started. “So. In case you didn’t realize this before. I’m um. Merlin. Well, you knew I was named Merlin but I’m also the wizard Merlin. Emrys. The one in the pointy hat with the owl from that one Disney movie.”

“Yes, we figured that one out,” Gwen supplied.

“Right.” Merlin bobbed his head. “And…well, after everything….everything at Camlann,” Merlin’s eyes shot to Arthur. “I sort of disappeared. I think everyone assumed I’d died. But it turns out I can’t actually die. I’m uh. Sort of made of magic. And tied to the land. And a bit immortal.”

“Immortal?” Arthur repeated. “Then…have you been around all this time?”

“More or less,” Merlin nodded miserably. “That’s sort of where the trouble started.” He rubbed at his arms. “I got…I guess tired is the right word. This was about, oh, four centuries ago?” Merlin shrugged. “I think I gave up. I was tired of watching people die and knowing I would have to keep living.” Arthur stared, and something in his chest was breaking. “So I did something pretty stupid. I wiped my own memories.”

“You can do that?” Morgana frowned.

“Apparently. It was the next best thing next thing to dying.” Arthur saw Gwen’s brow furrow suddenly. “I set up the spell quite cleverly, actually. I made it so that every 80 years or so I got a new set of memories. I let myself grow old, then the spell kicked in and essentially transported me and made me a new life. Tricked myself completely.”

“Merlin,” Gaius said, his voice stern. “That is an incredibly complex and risky bit of magic, I hope you realize that.”

“I know, it took me months to put together,” Merlin shrugged. “And it worked really well for a few centuries. Only it’s finally started fraying because I’ve been remembering flashes the last few months.”

“Me too!” Gwen straightened. “It was like everything became fuzzy and I started saying things that made no sense. And I could never quite recall what I’d just said.” She looked around. “We all know what I’m talking about, right?”

“We do,” Arthur agreed. He turned to Merlin. “So did this spell accidentally bring us back?”

“No.” Merlin frowned. “I’m almost certain that wasn’t me. The…” Merlin wiped at his face. “So, there’s a dragon in the metro.”

Arthur blinked.

“A dragon?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“No there isn’t.”

“Yes there is?” Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“My father would have told me about that,” Arthur continued.

“Just like he told us about the kelpie, right?” Morgana asked dryly.

“I…” Arthur pursed his lips, then turned to Gaius. “Is there a dragon in the tube?”

“I’m afraid that yes, there is a dragon in the tube,” Gaius sighed. “And I’m also afraid that I helped to put him there, back in the ‘60s.”

Arthur stared.

“You’re serious?” he demanded.

“Merlin,” Gaius ignored Arthur. “This wouldn’t happen to be Kilgarrah, would it?”

“Um. Yes.”

“Damn,” Gaius rubbed at his forehead. “He was already salty toward me back when we had him in the dungeon.”

“The dung—“ something clicked into place. “The _dragon_ is back too?” he whipped his head toward Merlin. “The one that tried to burn Camelot to the ground? That dragon?”

“Yes,” Merlin admitted. “But I haven’t set him free this time—“

“YOU SET HIM FREE LAST TIME?” Arthur half stood.

“Arthur!” Gwen snapped.

“That thing killed some of my best men!” Arthur gestured.

“Yes, well, he’s a dragon,” Merlin waved his hands helplessly. “They’re not exactly safe, are they?”

“Which is why he was locked up!” Arthur cried.

“It was part of a deal to save _your_ kingdom, you clotpole.”

“Really?” Arthur blanched. “Seriously. A thousand years and you’re still calling me clotpole?”

He and Merlin glared at one another, and they might as well have been squabbling in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin in that dumb kerchief and Arthur in a rough sewn tunic.

“Arthur,” Morgana cut in. “Kindly shut up. Merlin, keep going.”

“But—“

“Shut up,” Gwen repeated. Arthur snapped his mouth shut, crossed his arms, and slumped back in his seat.

“So,” Merlin cleared his throat. “Kilgarrah finally got through to me this afternoon and he helped nudge my memories back. I _think_ that’s what made the rest of you remember too.”

“It’d make sense,” Gwen nodded.

“But then he said that Albion itself is what brought you back. He said it was trying to get my attention. But I’m not so sure about that.”

“Albion?” Gwen frowned. “The old united kingdoms? That was ages ago.”

“The land in general,” Merlin clarified. “The source of magic in this part of the world. You know how Morgause told you that there was a rift in the magic? Kilgarrah told me the same thing. He said that I somehow need to fix it, because it’s been getting worse and worse ever since I wiped my memories.”

“Oh,” Morgana said in a low voice. Arthur glanced over at her. Gwen did too, only her expression was about ten times fiercer.

“Morgana,” she said. And that seemed to be enough. Morgana looked at Gwen a little helplessly, then inhaled and turned her face up to Merlin.

“The High Priestesses want to fix the rift too,” she said in a clear voice. “I...see, I’ve been getting visions of Morgause the last few months, and she’s been trying to get me to come see her. When I finally did, she told me I was a potential High Priestess. And that she wanted to recruit me, so I could help fix things. So. There’s that.”

Arthur watched Merlin’s face crumple into a deep frown.

“The High Priestesses kept trying to kill Arthur, back in the day,” he said slowly. “We’ve never really been friends.”

“I know that,” Morgana said.

“It’s been a long time though,” Merlin continued. “People change.”

“They do,” Morgana agreed.

Arthur watched something pass between Merlin and Morgana. His fingers curled at the edge of the couch.

“I think,” Merlin said. “We should visit the High Priestesses and discuss this rift. Because I know for a fact I can’t handle it by myself.” Morgana’s chin lifted, and her eyes lightened slightly.

“Is it that big of a deal?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah,” Merlin sounded all kinds of tired. “It really is.”

“It’s just that…” Arthur licked his lips. “I mean, obviously you and Morgana and the druids will want to fix this but—“

“Arthur,” Morgana’s voice was steely. “If you’re suggesting we ignore this, I’m going to wallop you.”

“Not _ignore_ it,” Arthur snapped, his face flushing. “I’m just…is this going to affect people without magic? At all?”

“Of course it will,” Merlin said blankly. “It’s the land. It’s tied to the people and animals and agriculture and…it’s going to be felt by _everyone_ if it gets bad enough.”

“See, there we go,” Arthur gestured and glared at Morgana. “I was _asking._ ”

“Sorry but you’ve absolutely never been fond of magic,” Morgana snapped back.

“I mean what do you think Excalibur was?” Merlin continued, looking more and more confused. “Your conception? Avalon? Albion and its magic has been tied to you since the beginning, even if you could never wield it.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Arthur scowled, wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth at all. “Sorry, but both times around I’ve happened to be raised by my father. My instinct isn’t to trust magic.”

“You’ll have to learn to do so, Arthur,” Gaius said solemnly. “If we’re going to embark on this task, we’re going to be inundated with it.”

Arthur’s stomach swooped despite himself.


	12. Chapter 12

The wrongness coated Morgana’s bones.

She stood in a wide field. She sensed that she was in a crowd, but the faces were indistinct and the voices muffled. All she could see was a woman, her back turned toward her, slowly falling to her knees in the tall grass. Morgana wanted to help her. She really did. But the ground was roiling and getting ready to swallow her whole and her magic felt tangled and inverted and—

Morgana’s eyes snapped open.

It took a few hard blinks for Morgana to decide that she was still in Merlin’s flat. She eased to a sit and looked up to find Arthur and Gwen passed out on the couch. Morgana’s blood was thick with adrenaline, so she gave into the inevitable, wriggled out of the sleeping bag, and padded to the kitchen.

She let her mind settle while she started to make tea. The vision had been familiar, she knew that much. Something big and dangerous that made her want to cower. The thing was, now she had some inkling of what she was foreseeing. It made a chill run up her spine.

Morgana leaned against the refrigerator and watched the water boil. She stirred when she sensed a presence at her shoulder.

“Hey,” Merlin said in a low voice.

“Hi,” Morgana replied, keeping her voice just as low. She glanced into the living room and found Gwen still draped across the couch. She was buried under a blanket that Merlin had dug up from his closet, and her head was pillowed on Arthur’s lap. Arthur, for his part, had finally fallen asleep since Morgana had last seen him, his head tilted back and a thin whistling noise escaping him whenever he exhaled. He had one hand buried in Gwen’s hair.

“Cute,” she smirked. “We should take a picture.”

“Way ahead of you,” Merlin waved his mobile, and Morgana snorted. Merlin grinned too, that quiet, suppressed one, and studied the boiling pot.

“Can’t sleep?” he guessed.

“Not really,” Morgana shrugged. “I um. I had a vision.” Merlin waited. “Of the rift…cracking? Something big. I’d had it before but never knew what I was seeing.”

“How bad is it?”

“It felt apocalyptic.”

“Well,” Merlin leaned back on his heels. “More motivation I guess. Visions aren’t end-all-be-alls, you know. They’re just possibilities.”

“So here’s hoping,” Morgana lifted her crossed fingers.

Merlin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“What about you then?” Morgana asked, crossing her arms. “Any visions of the end of the world keeping you up?”

“Nah, nothing so dramatic,” Merlin ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just that Gaius snores. Like, really, really snores. Used to keep me awake my first few nights in Camelot. And my sleeping bag was surprisingly uncomfortable, so I don’t think I’m sleeping tonight.”

“Mm,” Morgana hummed. A few beats of silence. “Thanks for letting us stay, by the way.”

“Eh,” Merlin scuffed at the kitchen floor. “I don’t think I really wanted any of you to leave. I’ve missed you lot.”

Morgana sneaked a glance at Merlin.

“All of us?” she asked.

“Hey,” Merlin lifted his head suddenly. “Don’t. I already said that I’m partially to blame for what happened, Morgana. You need to believe that. I…” he huffed. “I never helped you handle your magic. I _killed_ you.”

“After I attacked you.”

“And I poisoned you,” Merlin threw up his hands. “Listen, I quite literally had decades to think about the number of ways I messed up. You don’t need to take all the blame for yourself. You don’t _deserve_ all the blame.”

“That’s what Arthur and Gwen both told me,” Morgana puttered her lips. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well it’s like Gaius said,” Merlin tilted his head. “I don’t think any of us are interested in reliving those days. They had their bright moments. But looking back, we really were living a tragedy. Like, the classic, no-matter-what-you-do-you’re-going-to-get-fucked tragedy.”

“Well,” Morgana lifted one shoulder. “I suppose on the bright side, the tragedy didn’t end up with me screwing my own brother.”

Merlin choked out a cough suddenly, and Morgana grinned as she checked the boiling water.

“Wow Morgana,” Merlin looked askance at her. “Just. Wow.”

“What?” Morgana fetched two mugs. “It’s true.”

“I suppose so,” Merlin rubbed the back of his head and watched Morgana get the tea leaves steeping.

“But joking aside,” Morgana continued. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Will you help me learn to control my magic?” Morgana asked. She kept her eyes on the countertop. “Morgause wants to help me, but I think I’d like multiple mentors. You and the druids and maybe other sorcerers. Because last time, when I only learned about my magic from the priestesses, it didn’t end so well.”

“I think you’d be fine this time around learning from Morgause,” Merlin said. “But yeah. Absolutely. If I remember correctly, you already have a lot of raw talent.”

“Thanks,” Morgana said.

They stood in companionable silence while they waited for the tea, in the dimness of the kitchen with Arthur still wheezing away and Newcastle’s traffic rumbling down the street every so often.

“Are we going to work tomorrow at all?” Morgana asked at one point as she poured Merlin a mug.

“Dunno,” Merlin accepted the mug. He took a cautious sip, then looked at Morgana with a light frown. “You know what we still don’t know though? Whether everyone else has their memories too.”

“Every—oh. Oh god, you’re right.” Morgana started mentally listing off the people she remembered from the old days. “There’s the knights and Morgause and Vivian, Mithian and Agravaine. We already know that Nimueh remembers things. And then…Merlin.” She stared at him wide-eyed. “Uther. Uther’s back too.”

“Doing the exact same bullshit he was doing as a king,” Merlin sighed. “No offense.”

“None taken I just…this could get extremely messy extremely fast if _everyone_ got their memories back.”

“Well,” Merlin said slowly. “You haven’t heard a word from Uther, have you? Wouldn’t he try to get in contact with you or Arthur?”

“Probably,” Morgana tugged at her hair. “I don’t know. He might try and keep it to himself.”

“Hm,” Merlin squinted into his mug of tea. “We’ll have to find that out, won’t we?”

“Somehow.” Morgana groaned. “This whole business is going to be even worse than the necromancers.”

“Lovely,” Merlin said gloomily, and sipped at his tea.

***

The next morning, everyone agreed to go to the DMM office to sort things out, since Merlin’s flat was small and “smells like dirty laundry.”

“Shut up, Arthur,” Merlin said blithely as he locked the door behind him and started down the steps. “I had to wash _your_ clothes for nearly ten years. I don’t need to hear one word about dirty laundry.”

Morgana caught Gwen’s eye, and they ended up exchanging grins.

When they all trickled into the main governmental building, Morgana was sure that every one of them immediately looked to Vivian at her usual spot at the front desk.

Vivian, for her part, tapped away at her computer, more or less how she did every morning. She must have sensed all the eyes, though, because she did eventually glance up.

“Good morning?” she said after a heartbeat of silence.

Several people dropped their eyes, mumbled “Good mornings” in return, and as a unit hustled for the DMM office. Morgana ended up being the one who reached the door first, and had to wrestle with the lock while Arthur pressed up behind her and hissed for her to hurry up.

“Well,” Gwen announced when they’d all tumbled into the office. She dumped her bag on her desk with a little flourish. “ _She’s_ still blissfully ignorant.”

“Probably thinks we’re all a bit weird now,” Merlin sighed.

“She thought that already,” Arthur said. Everyone’s heads snapped in his direction. He held up his hands defensively. “Well it’s true! She told me so.”

“Over a romantic dinner date?” Morgana guessed.

“Well. No,” Arthur frowned. “You all had a ridiculous betting pool set up, remember? I wasn’t going to subject her to that kind of humiliation.”

“You were just embarrassed,” Morgana waved a hand.

“Well in any case I’m glad,” Merlin hoisted himself into his desk. “I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with love spells again. Awful things.”

“I believe,” Gaius said, pulling everyone’s attention in his direction. “That it’s best to find out who _does_ remember. If we were all affected and Vivian wasn’t, perhaps it has something to do with how close the person is to Merlin.”

“Or how major of characters they are,” Gwen added. “If we’re talking in terms of the legends.”

“Okay,” Morgana crossed her arms. “Then who would be next?”

“I guess the knights,” Merlin said slowly. “The central guard.” He looked around. “Has anyone heard from them? Any panicked voice mails?”

“Not a peep, actually,” Gwen frowned. “Should we call them?”

A beat of awkward silence.

“I’ll do it,” Arthur sighed. “They’re my men, I suppose.” He grabbed his mobile, sat in his chair, and started dialing.

Everyone crowded a little closer as Arthur waited through a few ring tones.

“Hey Leon,” he finally said. “No, nothing much. I just um…what? Oh, no I didn’t manage to catch the game last night, actually. I was a bit busy. How about you? Right.” He looked at them with his mouth exaggeratedly downturned. No dice.

“Do you think Gwaine might remember anything?” Morgana hissed to Merlin, Gwen and Gaius. “He was pretty good friends with Merlin, right? Or Elyan, since he’s Gwen’s sister? Lance?”

“Worth a shot,” Merlin whispered back.

But several calls and a few awkward conversations later, they had to acquiesce to the fact that the five of them, plus Nimueh and Kilgarrah, were the only ones who seemed to remember anything of their past lives. Morgana had even called Uther (after an intense game of rock paper scissors with Arthur) and confirmed that, a) he was stressed about the druids and b) had no idea he used to be a king.

“Why _us_ though?” Arthur asked after Morgana had hung up on Uther, pacing the office like a caged lion. “Why pick us out and then leave everyone else?”

“I _told_ you, magic isn’t always logical,” Merlin protested from where he was draped across his office chair. “In fact it’s almost never logical.”

“But it has to be following somekind of rules,” Arthur gestured emphatically.

“Can we agree that this conversation has reached a dead end?” Morgana asked, her chin resting on the back of her chair. “We don’t know the answer. It doesn’t matter at this point. We should move on.”

“Thank you,” Gaius called out from his office, into which he’d disappeared fifteen minutes ago, “Because I am still the head of this branch and have too many things to get done, and you lot are being even less productive than usual.”

So, several minutes later, they all settled themselves into the meeting room while Arthur stood at the dry erase board with a marker in hand.

“So,” he positioned the marker over the board. “What is our ultimate problem we’re trying to solve?”

“My god, this isn’t one of your board meetings,” Merlin called out.

“You know what?” Arthur pointed the marker at him. “This is how my office handled that rash of dancing curses last year _and_ the infestation of goblins, and it worked splendidly. Shut your mouth.”

“Didn’t work with druids though,” Merlin added cheekily.

Morgana coughed suddenly.

“We have a major crack in Albion’s magic,” Gwen spoke up. “It’s…what did you say last night, Merlin? It started back in the days of Camelot and got a lot worse in the last few decades. It’s bad enough that the dragon and the High Priestesses want to try and fix it. It might be tied to Merlin.”

“ _Thank_ you Guinevere,” Arthur said, and wrote out ‘Fix rift in Albion’s magic,’ then underlined it “So. Plan of action?”

“Get in contact with the High Priestesses,” Gaius said. “I’d suggest that we let Morgana lead that.”

“Are you sure?” Morgana turned to Gaius. “Last time—“

“Last time, Morgause was trying to depose Uther and you were alone,” he said. Morgana bit her lip, then nodded up at Arthur.

Arthur dutifully bullet-pointed ‘High Priestesses—Morgana.’

“If we’re going to talk to the priestesses, we should involve the druids too,” Merlin said. “They’ll be just as invested in this, and they can help immensely.” Arthur visibly hesitated, then twisted to face Merlin.

“Can I put you in charge of that?” he asked.

“Well, you sure as hell won’t be doing it.”

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur said dryly, but added ‘Druids—Merlin.’ “Anyone else we should be talking to?”

“I have a network of magic users,” Gaius said. “I can tap into that and see who replies.”

“The fey folk are too self-serving,” Merlin mused. “We should probably leave them alone. There’s Kilgarrah, but I can also take care of that. And then we have Nimueh.”

“Ah yes,” Arthur capped the marker and leaned on the table. “You’re sure you don’t know how she got her memories before any of us?”

“She’s incredibly powerful,” Gwen supplied. “But then again maybe it was a fluke.”

“Maybe we should figure out what she was getting at with that message she left us,” Gaius added.

“Maybe we should find her and ask,” Morgana suggested.

“Maybe she’s already here,” came a voice from the door.

Merlin and Gwen clattered to a stand, and Morgana felt her magic jump to just beneath her skin. The woman leaning against the doorframe was slim, pale and had blue eyes. She wore a battered leather jacket and tight, dark jeans that stopped above thick boots. And she was beautiful, yes, but not in a way that felt manageable. Power crackled around her like the static just before a thunderstorm.

Several tense moments passed.

“Were you standing there _waiting_ to make a snappy one liner?” Gwen finally asked.

Nimueh pursed her lips.

“I saw an opportunity,” she said defensively.

Morgana glanced at Merlin, who was also practically pulsing with his own, earthier brand of magic. Morgana expected to smell ozone any moment now.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“To talk,” Nimueh eyed him, but didn’t try to take a step into the room. “I finally felt your presence again, which means we’re all on the same page. We don’t have a lot of time to waste.”

“Forgive us,” Gaius said, his hands folded politely on the tabletop. “But in your last incarnation you never demonstrated yourself as a friend to the Pendragons, Merlin, or me. And this time around, you’ve been poisoning wells, causing several headaches in York, possibly affecting the merfolk and harassing my employees. You’ll understand if we need some proof of your intentions.”

Nimueh studied Gaius.

“I have nothing to do with the merfolk,” she finally said.

“Be that as it may,” Gaius smiled serenely.

Nimueh frowned, then straightened. Morgana nearly didn’t notice it at first, but within the next several seconds the pressure inside the room dropped. Morgana’s eardrums popped and the hair on her arms lay flat again.

Nimueh looked at Merlin expectantly.

He didn’t break eye contact as he did the same. Morgana tucked away her own magic, and soon the room didn’t feel half as stifling.

“Much better,” Gaius gestured to an empty chair. “That will do for now. Any trouble, however, and we’ll have to break out the spelled handcuffs.”

“You wouldn’t,” Nimueh froze halfway toward the chair.

“Not if we all stay civil.”

Nimueh gave a sharp exhale, then strode the rest of the way to the chair and set herself into it with all the grace of a lady. She studied the white board.

“Well you know the problem at least,” she said. “That’s a relief. Who told you?”

“Kilgarrah,” Merlin said slowly.

“That old thing?” Nimueh pursed her lips, then shrugged. “Better him than me, I suppose. We can skip right over that part.”

“Is that what that letter was about?” Gwen asked, practically leaning across the table. She had a hard expression on, one that Morgana recognized all too well.

“No,” Nimueh turned back to Gwen. “That was an attempt to wake Emrys up.”

“Untranslatable chicken scratch?” Arthur suggested.

“A remembering spell, written in the language of the Triple Goddesses,” Nimueh shot him a dirty look. “A last ditch effort, but I was hoping that some part of Emrys might recognize the language and it would loosen up some of his memories. If I got really lucky, he’d read the spell out loud and maybe, possibly, if the gods were in the right mood, bring his own memories back.”

“That…that’s really convoluted,” Morgana admitted.

“I was limited,” Nimueh waved a hand. “The first thing I tried was to cast a whole series of remembering spells on Emrys from a distance, but nothing stuck.” She looked over at Merlin. “You really, really did not want to remember anything. Congratulations.”

Merlin was staring at her with mounting incredulousness.

“Then I tried walking up to you and blathering about your old life, about Camelot and our boss battle. You know what happened? You didn’t absorb a word of it. In one ear and out the other. You kept asking whether you could help me.”

“Wait,” Merlin straightened. “On the tube. The day the news about the druids broke. You were sitting next to me and said something but...I _thought_ you looked familiar.”

“Lovely. That didn’t help me any,” Nimueh flicked hair from her face. “The letter was, as I said, a last ditch effort. I couldn’t have any magic in the letter, because I knew you lot would scan that thing within an inch of its life. I don’t know what my next plan would have been. Kidnapping, maybe.”

A beat of overwhelming silence.

“You know,” Gwen finally broke it. “I have no trouble believing you’re a High Priestess. You all like to get help by obliquely stalking people.”

“What priestesses—“ Nimeh’s eyes fell on Morgana. “Ah. That’s right. Morgause’s charge, aren’t you? They’re all very excited about you. I think you’re the most promising one they’ve found in a few decades.”

Morgana felt her back straighten instinctively.

“Do you also know that they’re trying to recruit me to help fix the rift?” Morgana asked. Nimueh gave her a look.

“My dear, that’s all anyone has been talking about for the last few years, is recruiting bright young things to help fix that effing rift,” she said in a flat voice. “It’s become a holy war.”

“Morgause seemed to imply that you’re not helping,” Gwen said.

“Because it’s _useless_ ,” Nimueh threw up her hands. “If any of the old bats who lead our order would just look at the thing critically, they’d see we need more than a handful of priestesses. This is the bones of the land itself we’re trying to stitch. We need an immortal sorcerer who’s practically an avatar of the land’s magic,” she pointed at Merlin. “We need the dragon. We need the druids. We need the old gods and spirits still awake enough to hear us. We need anyone with so much as the ability to enchant a teacup.”

“Huh,” Merlin frowned. “You’ve changed.”

“What?” Nimueh frowned back.

“Last time you were a lot more ‘Argh, I’m the great and powerful Nimueh. You cannot defeat me’ type.”

“I’m still that,” Nimueh sniffed and swept her hair from her face. “Ask Gwen.”

“She is,” Gwen shrugged.

“I’m just concentrating on a bigger issue than an idiot king,” Nimueh continued. “That’s my _magic_ at risk. I don’t mind garnering some strange bedfellows to fix it.”

“Well,” Gaius leaned back in his chair. “I hope I speak for everyone when I say that we’re in the same situation.” He smiled slightly. “But now I have to ask. Were you in fact responsible for the mess over in York and the poisoned wells?”

Nimueh drew herself up. “Like I said,” she said in a prim voice. “I haven’t changed all that much from last time.”

“Meaning?” Arthur pressed.

“Meaning your father is oppressing magic users just as much now as he was back then,” Nimueh leveled him an ornery glare. “You shouldn’t act so surprised when the London druids get fed up with his attitude and decide to ruin a few buildings to make it clear what they think.”

“Oh brilliant,” Arthur slumped back. “You’re a magical anarchist. Freedom fighter. Whatever.”

“Out of necessity,” Nimueh bit out.

“Hey, bedfellows, right?” Merlin spoke up. “Can we wait until the rift is fixed before we start this?”

“So do you want to kill the entire nonmagical population too?” Arthur ignored him.

“Oh please, we’ve never tried to do that. Unlike your father. He literally does want every one of us dead—“

“That is a _gross_ exaggeration—“

“—just because he made the exact same effing mistake with magic as last time.”

It took several seconds for her words to sink in, but when they did, Morgana’s eyes snapped to Arthur.

“You…” Arthur faltered for a moment. His face had paled. “Is that the same? Is that how I was…how my mother...” He didn’t seem quite capable of finishing the sentence.

“Believe me, I hate talking about it too,” Nimueh said in a mutinous voice. “This was before my memories came back to me. Otherwise I’d have told Uther and Ygraine to let things be. Consider adoption maybe.”

“I don’t…” Arthur rubbed at his temple. “ _Fuck_.”

“My sentiments about the whole thing too,” Nimueh shrugged.

Morgana, meanwhile, interlaced her fingers with a sudden thought. Because if she’d been asked about her parentage a week ago, she’d have recited that her real father, Gorlois, had died when Morgana had been seven. That her mother, Vivienne, and Uther had married when she’d been eight. That by the time Morgana turned ten, her mother was dead of heart disease and Morgana had been left with Uther and Arthur as her stepfather and stepbrother.

But if things were repeating themselves (and Morgana didn’t see why they wouldn’t be at this point) then that meant that Gorlois was not her father at all. Uther was.

And Arthur was, in fact, her half-brother.

And Morgause was her half-sister through their mother.

And this was all getting rapidly out of hand.

The room had sunk into deep, awkward silence.

“Listen,” Gwen leaned forward suddenly. “As far as I see it, we can all either pick apart all the past wrongs or we can focus on what we need to do.” She looked between Nimueh and Arthur. “Can I ask you two to choose the latter?”

Neither Nimueh nor Arthur looked agreeable to the proposal, but eventually Nimueh gave one curt nod. Arthur’s nod was slower.

“Alright,” Gwen sank back in her chair. “Good.”

Gaius cleared his throat.

“Nimueh. You said, ‘before your memories had come back,’” he said.

“Yes, before,” Nimueh dragged her eyes in his direction. “Long story short, I was one of the High Priestesses who went into the rift to investigate it, three years ago. When I touched it, my memories came to me all at once. Very disorienting. Not much fun at all.”

“Just like that?” Merlin frowned. “So Albion was the one to give them back.”

“In a sense, yes,” Nimueh agreed. “Maybe it was on purpose. Maybe on accident. But it made everything much clearer to me, and that was when I started searching for others like me, and for you, Emrys. Of course, you’d hidden yourself well. It took me a long time.”

“Right. Sorry,” Merlin rubbed at his neck.

Another silence.

“Well then,” Gaius clapped his hands. “The good thing is that we’re all on the same side now. So. Let’s pick up where we left off, why don’t we? The first question, I think, is where is the epicenter of this rift?”

“Somewhere south of here,” Merlin said. “I didn’t get a good sense of where exactly.”

“Belford,” Nimueh said immediately. “I mean, the cracks have spread fairly far, but the priestesses have been agreeing that it started…what?”

Everyone was staring at Gwen, who was in turn staring at Nimueh.

“Belford?” Gwen echoed.

“Yes.” Nimueh’s eyebrows rose.

“You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

Gwen slumped in her seat.

“Well that just figures, doesn’t it?” she asked the ceiling.


	13. Chapter 13

“So…it’s a concentration camp?” Nimueh paced in front of the white board.

“Noooo,” Gwen wiped at her face with both hands. “It’s a _settlement_ project. It’s the first of its kind and if it works then the DMM might try it in other areas and it’s been eating my life.”

“You’re rounding up magic users and sticking them in one town,” Nimueh squinted at Gwen. “That’s a concentration camp.”

“See?” Arthur gestured. “Magical libertarians. They think everyone’s out to get them.”

“Right. Sorry. I probably sound like a libertarian to a fascist.”

“It’s a project that was my idea,” Gaius spoke up. “A town that is designed to be friendly to magic users, made to suit their needs and traditions. I’ve been hearing druids and sorcerers voice their wish for such a place for years before pitching it to the DMM board. And right now, the area around Belford has seemed the most promising.”

“It’s a nightmare trying to control how people use magic,” Gwen added. “The board likes this idea of setting up specific zones that _would_ allow magic, as a way to ease the pressure. People could live their lives there and not worry about all the regulations and potential lawsuits.”

“And I’m sure these reservations would have equal resources to the rest of England,” Nimueh said sardonically. “Of course the government wouldn’t be watching them like a hawk. Oh, right, and I’m _positive_ that opting for segregation instead of integration is just the ideal way of tackling this. Forget all the proposed legislation to, I don’t know, relax these policies restricting magic?” She placed her hands on her hips. “It’s an Israel for magic users,” Nimueh said. “I can’t believe you all don’t see that.”

Arthur gave Merlin an exaggerated expression of _see_?

“We’re certainly not trying to emulate Israel and Palestine,” Gaius said. “To be fair, we’re setting up a town. Not a country.”

Nimueh took another few paces.

“Why haven’t I heard about this?” she demanded.

“Probably because the priestesses like to hide in their forests and ignore the rest of humanity,” Arthur suggested.

“Because it’s still in its planning stages,” Gwen said, kicking at Arthur conspicuously. “I’ve been scouting for the areas that already had high concentrations of magic users, drafting rough maps of the ley lines, conducting interviews, taking surveys—”

“It won’t work,” Nimueh said.

“It might,” Morgana frowned. “Enough people are interested and _want_ it to work. It’s not all magical users, just the ones who want to come.”

“The point is,” Gwen leaned her crossed arms on the table. “We know a lot about the magic of that area. Like, a _lot_. And I have tons of contacts I can recruit. I’m sure they’ll want to help.”

Nimueh pursed her lips and looked around the table.

“Well, if we have that information, we might as well use it, I suppose,” she finally said.

“Right. So glad we have her permission,” Arthur muttered.

***

The next 24 hours passed in a blur.

Discussions, arguments, maps, charts, and coffee abounded. Merlin revealed that the coffee machine was in fact so bad that he’d only been able to get it to work with magic, to the verbal outrage of Arthur and the “I should have guessed, really” of Gwen.

Sometime around ten that night, Morgana and Arthur drove home so they could snatch at a few hours of sleep before they returned to the DMM office.

When they stumbled in on Thursday morning, they found a tall man in rough sewn robes talking to Gaius next to the plastic tree. Morgana stopped so suddenly that Arthur turned to frown at her.

“Ah, glad you two made it,” Gaius said before Arthur could say anything. He gestured to the man. “I’d like you to meet Aglain. He’s one of our area’s most prominent druid leaders and a good friend of mine.”

“Pleased to meet you, Arthur and Morgana Pendragon,” Aglain grinned and held out a hand. Arthur took a split second to grasp it in return. His smile had hesitancy in its corners.

“You too,” he said, then stepped aside so Aglain and Morgana could shake hands as well. She looked into his dark eyes for some flash of recognition, but she only found polite kindness.

Nevertheless, she said, “It’s so, so good to have you here. I’m deeply grateful.”

Aglain’s politeness sparked with confusion.

“Aglain has traveled a long way to speak with us,” Gaius said. “And has plenty of good information to share. We’ll be meeting in about ten minutes.”

“Of course,” Arthur nodded. Then to Agalin, “Thank you for agreeing to work with us.”

“I’m only glad that DMM is taking this as seriously as it is,” Agalin said. “We’ve been aware of the rift for a few years now, but none of us wanted to try to contact the government about it.” He chuckled. “No offense, but you understand: druids and the DMM have never been tight friends.”

“You’re right,” Arthur said, his voice odd. “Maybe we can change that, though.”

“I hope we can,” Aglain bowed his head briefly.

As Gaius and Aglain drifted to Gaius’ office, Arthur turned to Morgana.

“That,” he said in a low voice as he jerked his thumb back. “Is unprecedented in my experience. A druid leader coming right into the office, of his own volition? Usually just setting up a meeting spot is a few-month planning process.

“The druids like Gaius, I told you that,” Morgana shrugged vaguely. Arthur cocked his head.

“What?” he asked.

“I knew him. From the old days.”

Arthur frowned. “When?”

“Before Morgause, when you all thought I’d been kidnapped,” Morgana said wryly. “My magic was starting to become stronger and Merlin suggested I go to the druids for help. Aglain saved me and…he was incredibly kind. Incredibly wise. He told me he could help me learn to control my magic.” She shrugged and looked to the office again. “I always did remember him fondly.”

“What happened to him?”

Morgana looked right at Arthur.

“You raided the camp,” she said in a flat voice. “One of your knights killed him.”

Arthur didn’t even look surprised, just grim. He too glanced at Aglain and Gaius.

“Like I said,” he said in a heavy voice. “You’re really not to blame for what ended up happening.”

“You and Uther are repeating the exact same mistakes, you know,” Morgana said. “With the druids.”

“Merlin’s made that abundantly clear,” Arthur sighed.

“Well you need to hear it,” Morgana scowled. “As soon as this rift business is fixed, we’re going to go on a two-person campaign against Uther.” She shook her head. “The magical community has always dealt with prejudice, but they can’t live under Uther’s policies for much longer. Look at Nimueh. The London druid communities. We’re going to have deaths soon.”

“I get it,” Arthur wiped a hand over his face. “I do.”

“Do you really?” Morgana narrowed her eyes.

Arthur just gave her a tired look.

“I’m trying.”

 ***

During their meeting with Aglain, with Nimueh in attendance, Morgana finally started to feel like they had a grasp of what they were facing. Aglain outlined what the druids understood of the rift, and he, Nimueh, Merlin and Gaius started brainstorming ways to tackle it.

It was a daunting task. Gaius estimated that they would need a few hundred magic users in attendance, and all would have slightly different strengths and styles of magic. Coordinating their power, Aglain said, would take intense planning from all groups involved.

“This is fine as a prerequisite meeting,” he told them. “But the real work can only start when we’re all at the site of the rift, with representatives from all groups in attendance. And that needs to happen as soon as we can manage it.”

“We’re telling people to meet at a designated site outside of Belford in three days’ time,” Gwen said. Her hair was even more wayward than usual, and she had piles of paper through which she was shuffling. “I’ve pulled some strings to secure a few acres of land on which people can gather and set up camp. I plan on this whole thing taking a week. Maybe more. Um, it’s mostly fields meant for grazing, though supposedly it’s been unused for a few years. It’s close to the River Wear and has potable water. The roads are unpaved but we don’t want a lot of attention anyway, so it’s probably for the better. I mean, none of this going through the proper venues, so the less attention we bring to ourselves, the better, otherwise we’re all fired and—sorry, sorry I’m rambling.”

Aglain nodded, one hand on his chin. “This sounds like a good start,” he said in a kind tone. “I can see we’re already thinking along the same lines.”

The smile Gwen gave him was grateful, albeit frazzled.

“I’ll be sure to send messages to all the druidic groups,” Aglain continued, looking around the table. “This affects every clan. They’d be fools not to send at least a few of their strongest wielders.”

“We hope to do the same for the priestesses,” Nimueh said. “We’re a reclusive bunch, but I think we’ll be able to get a few of us to the site.”

Morgana bit at the inside of her cheek at the mention of priestesses. She’d begged off of contacting Morgause yesterday, but that only meant that she’d _have_ to do it today. The breakfast she’d scarfed an hour earlier churned threateningly in her stomach.

***

“I’ll be right there with you,” Nimueh assured Morgana an hour later as they stood among the various desks of the DMM office. “I know how these women work.”

“They think you’re off your rocker,” Arthur said from his desk.

“Be that as it may,” Nimueh rolled her eyes briefly.

“You’re _sure_ I can’t come along?” Merlin asked. He hovered near Morgana, as if that might change Nimueh’s opinion.

“You really don’t understand how far back the priestesses remember, do you?” Nimueh asked him. “At best, you’re regarded as a necessary evil. You killed more than one priestess, remember that?”

“You started it,” Merlin protested.

“Because you insisted on serving the royal family that massacred—“

“No. Stop,” Gwen’s voice cut through the computer and papers surrounding her desk. “I want to know the priestesses’ status by the end of the day. Go now. No bickering.” The clatter of her typing didn’t slacken.

“Well then,” Morgana gave Merlin a lopsided grin.

“Then let me just say,” Arthur stood and moved to Morgana’s other side. “That if my sister doesn’t come back alive and well, we’re going to—“

“I understand,” Nimueh rubbed at her temple. “You have guns and you know how to use them.”

“No brainwashing,” Arthur pointed a finger.

“I wasn’t _brainwashed_ ,” Morgana made face.

“You’re thinking of me,” Gwen added humorlessly, and Morgana winced.

“Morgana will return with no more desire to kill you than she usually has,” Nimueh grasped at Morgana’s hands. “Now if you’ll let us go, the Queen has given us a direct order and I don’t want to be the one to disobey her.”

“Thought I was just a serving girl,” Gwen peeked out from behind her papers, her mouth twisted in a sideways grin.

“You haven’t been acting like it,” Nimueh told her, just before Morgana felt a spark jump from Nimueh’s skin to her own. A blast of tingling warmth, a swooping sensation in her stomach, and between one blink and the next, the DMM office had transformed into a thick forest.

Nimueh dropped Morgana’s hands while Morgana was busy craning her neck at the arch of bare tree branches.

“Where are we?” she asked, trying and failing not to sound like a schoolgirl who had just seen a magic trick.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you on pain of death,” Nimueh called out. “I told you to wear trainers, didn’t I? Good. We’re got some underbrush to get through.”

Morgana tightened her coat around her and followed Nimueh through the trees. They walked for nearly fifteen minutes, Nimueh leading her through gullies and over hills that left Morgana thoroughly confused.

At first, the tingling was barely noticeable. But at some point, Morgana decided that she wasn’t imagining the bone-deep vibration thrumming through her body. It made her magic sound like a tuning fork.

“What is that?” she asked Nimueh in a whisper, as if speaking too loud might disturb the hum.

“The ley line,” Nimueh replied. “This is one of the most magical areas in all the British Isles. Magic converges here like rivers into the ocean, and simultaneously practically gushes from the earth. It’s a very holy place.”

Raised in the holy sites, Morgause had said. Morgana examined the forest, and imagined growing up here among people like her, people who would never tell her that her visions were a malady.

“Stop,” Nimueh halted, and Morgana nearly crashed into her back. They stood just outside a decent sized pine grove. It was a splash of deep green in an otherwise grey winter forest. Morgana could smell the sap and needles; something spicy and earthy. The vibration seemed to swell and reverberate here, the silence practically ringing with magic. Morgana could all but hear it.

“Now let me do the initial explanation,” Nimueh said. “But when it’s your turn to explain yourself, do it simply and truthfully. The leaders of our order are too old and sharp for lies.”

Then she lifted her chin, opened her mouth, and spoke words that made Morgana’s stomach curl out of a combination of excitement and apprehension. They felt too powerful to come out of a mere human, yet Nimueh flicked the words from her tongue with practiced ease. The words met the lower vibration, hung there for a second, then dissolved away.

“They’re going to make us wait for a bit,” Nimueh muttered to Morgana. “Hold tight.”

About three minutes later, Morgana became aware of a figure striding through the dimness of the pine grove. Its movement was all but silent in the thick mat of dead pine needles. As it got nearer, Morgana recognized it as a girl—not more than sixteen—with smooth brown skin and hair that spiraled above her face. She paused several paces from Nimueh and Morgana, bowed, and said something in a language Morgana didn’t recognize, though she could tell it was laced with magic. Nimueh replied in the same language. The girl made a small sound of surprise, then looked at Morgana properly.

“Greetings, Morgana Pendragon,” she said in English. “We’re honored to receive you.”

“Thank you,” Morgana replied in as proper a voice as she could manage.

“I’ve sent your request to the High Priestesses,” the girl continued as she turned back to Nimueh. “They’ll convene as soon as they’re able.”

“How long?” Nimueh asked. “It’s urgent.”

“You made that clear, yes,” the girl said with a trace of sarcasm that made her sound more like a normal teenager. She lowered her voice. “Katrina is especially mad at you still. She might not show up at all.”

“Katrina can go screw a manticore,” Nimueh shrugged. “Well, fine then. We can wait as long as they need.”

The girl nodded, shot a glance at Morgana, then turned and walked back into the pine grove. She was swallowed up before Morgana could see where she went.

“That was Tracy,” Nimueh said, watching the spot where the girl had disappeared. “One of ten novices. Nice girl. And she knows how to laugh, which is always a relief.”

“She’s so young,” Morgana marveled.

“Oh, they come in when they’re ten or eleven usually,” Nimueh waved a hand. “The goal is to catch them before puberty. I mean, ideally they come in when they’re toddlers, but the priestesses have had to change some of the old methods.”

“When did you come in?” Morgana asked. Nimueh side-eyed her.

“Six,” she finally said. “I had an alcoholic mother and no dad, so they were doing me a favor, really.”

“Did they just swoop in and grab you?” Morgana asked.

“Well yeah. My mum had no more than the foggiest clue about magic. Real magic, I mean, not the trinkets she’d buy from the street vendors that were supposed to make your hair shinier or some nonsense. I think they told her I was going to a school for special girls, and she wasn’t too worried once she found out she wouldn’t have to pay a single quid, and that I’d be cared for.”

“That’s illegal,” Morgana gaped. “You can’t just _take_ little girls and lie to their parents.”

“That’s what it’s come to,” Nimueh placed her hands on her hips. “In the old days, whole villages would come out to celebrate a girl being taken to live with the priestesses, and we had a few hundred novices at any given time. But funnily enough, stigmas these days make it hard to tell mum and dad that their little princess is off to live in the forest to learn to commune with the Triple Goddess. Christianity squashed belief in _that_ deity into smithereens. She’s just a quaint spirit to most people these days.”

“Maybe you ought to work on your public image,” Morgana said in a flat voice.

“Y’know, I’ve suggested we open a bona fide school,” Nimueh cocked her head in Morgana’s direction, smiling slightly. “Make it legal and such. We might still get branded as a cult, but there’s no reason we can’t be one of the _respectable_ cults. The ones that donate some money to charity and fight for women’s rights.” Nimueh sighed. “But High Priestesses are all about tradition. Gotta have the same rituals as we did thousands of years ago, otherwise the Goddess will smite us all to kingdom come. They don’t understand that rituals aren’t supposed to stay rigid. That’s how they become useless. They need to change with the land and the people. I mean, the _Goddess_ has changed since the old days. I’m just the only one who remembers.” She shrugged and gave Morgana a ‘what are you going to do, really?’ expression.

Morgana frowned at Nimueh, worrying at her bottom lip.

“It could happen eventually,” Morgana said.

“What?”

“A school. If you ever convinced the High Priestesses. I’m not sure what kind of luck you’ll have under Uther. But he’ll be gone soon enough; the position isn’t a lifetime one. And I…well I _hope_ to get Arthur or myself as head of the DMM afterwards, if we play our cards right. And at that point,” Morgana shrugged. “We’ll be able to do a lot to help you.”

Nimueh was looking at Morgana with clear doubt, but a spark of something else in her blue eyes.

“You’re repeating yourself, I hope you know,” she said. “This is word for word what happened last time.”

“I’m very aware,” Morgana said. “I just hope to walk into it this time with my eyes open.”

At that moment, something in the forest’s humming hitched. Morgana and Nimueh both snapped their heads toward the pine grove. Three figures now approached. Morgana recognized Tracy in front, and just behind her, Morgause in a spilling robe and with her yellow hair flowing across her shoulders. Something in Morgana hitched at the sight of her half-sister and her old mentor. The person who had turned Morgana’s frustration with Arthur and Uther into full-blown hatred.

Next to Morgause walked a short woman with a plain face and dark brown hair pulled back in a long plait. Her every footstep carried as much magical energy as Nimueh or Morgause.

And suddenly Morgana felt far, far out of her element. Once upon a time she might have been a High Priestess, but now she just felt like a girl from London who was involved in things too big for her.

The three women stopped just inside the pine grove. Tracy stepped forward and said in a loud, clear voice, “High Priestess Morgause of the Maiden Huntress and High Priestess Sulwyn of the Mother Goddess greet High Priestess Nimueh of the Death Crone.”

“You’re going to make her say all that?” Nimueh said as Tracy took a breath to continue. “You don’t remember having to do all those introductions as a novice? God, they were such a bore.” Tracy shut her mouth and blinked at Nimueh. Then she glanced back at Morgause and Sulwyn as if for instruction.

“I see your attitude hasn’t changed any,” Sulwyn said in a thick Welsh accent as she waved at Tracy to let her handle things.

“See only two of you bothered to show up,” Nimueh replied, sticking her hands nonchalantly in her coat pockets. “Where are the other six?”

It took Morgana a moment to remember that indeed there were supposed to be nine High Priestesses; three for each of the Triple Goddesses’ incarnations. The Maiden Huntress, the Mother Goddess and the Death Crone. The lessons from Morgause rose in Morgana’s memory like old friends.

The Morgause of the present caught Morgana’s eye, but Morgana couldn’t read her expression.

“I doubt anyone is interested in hearing your flighty theories for a tenth time,” Sulwyn said in a droll voice. “What do you want? I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’re ready to resume your work.”

“I’ve been doing my work this whole time,” Nimueh straightened to her full height. “I’ve been pursuing the exact same goal as all of you—“

“Nimueh—“

“And we’re finally getting somewhere!” Nimueh interrupted. Her words flowed into something more regency sounding. “This I tell you. Even as we speak, an alliance of magic wielders are mustering their forces and traveling to the site of the crack in Albion’s magic. Druids, sorcerers, magical creatures are coming. Even the dragon plans to join the cause.” She looked between Morgause and Sulwyn. “This is not something we can ignore. We must come out and show the full muster of the priestesses.”

“That will not do,” Sulwyn frowned and folded her hands in front of her. “Only the priestesses of the Triple Goddess have the power and the authority to handle something so vital as the land’s most base magic.”

“We have not meddled with the druids nor the common wielders for a long time,” Morgause added, but with a tad less conviction in her voice than Sulwyn.

“Then we’ll have to start now,” Nimueh insisted. “Sulwyn, we may be the authority when it comes to the Goddess, but remember that Her realm is life and the passing of it. This problem is in the land; this is rock, older than life by untold eons. The Goddess might have Her roots in Albion, but She is not Albion itself. And Albion is too big and unwieldy for us to try and approach it ourselves, even with the Goddess to help us.”

“You’ve said this before,” Sulwyn said. She sounded unimpressed. She gestured at Morgana. “I’m more interested in why you’ve had the gall to bring Morgause’s intended apprentice here. That should have been Morgauses’s honor.”

“I know that,” Nimueh bowed her head briefly. “And I beg apology. But Morgana has her own experiences to share with you. She’s not involved in our politics and traditions. Perhaps you will put more trust in her words.” Nimueh shot a look at Morgana, who tried not to blanch in return. Because in theory, ‘tell the High Priestesses your story’ sounded just fine. But with Morgause acting all stiff wariness, and Sulwyn looking wholly irked, Morgana was starting to suspect that this might not work in practice.

But still. Morgana had faced boardrooms of fat old men who’d been about as ready to change their minds as they were to go for a jog. And she’d coaxed them into coming around to her side. She could do this.

Morgana cleared her throat and, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to start stroking some egos, executed a deep bow.

“I am truly honored to speak before you, High Priestesses Morgause and Sulwyn,” she said, falling back into the old court language from her Camelot days. She imagined herself in her striking emerald green gown, her hair left to cascade across her back in black waves save a few bejeweled clasps, men watching her pass without being able to help it.

When she straightened, she stood a bit taller.

“My name is Morgana Pendragon,” she said. She paused. “I work in the Department of Magical Management, Tyne and Wear branch. Head field investigator.”

“We know this, child,” Sulwyn said not unkindly, but not brimming with patience either.

“Of course,” Morgana nodded. “You also know that I’ve always had visions, and that recently they’ve included Morgause attempting to get into contact with me.” Morgause lifted her chin ever so slightly. Her expression was utterly focused on Morgana, and that gave her some confidence. “They’ve also included glimpses of what will happen when the rift gives way. Terrible loss of life and damage beyond reckoning.”

“We have seen variations of that vision as well,” Sulwyn said.

“And then,” Morgana continued. “There were the visions that were not visions at all. But stray memories.”

Morgause’s eyebrows lowered and Sulwyn’s expression shuttered.

“Please hear me out,” Morgana lifted her hands. “And believe that I speak truth. I work with a woman named Gwen and three men named Arthur, Gaius and Merlin.” She paused for effect. “Those are names of great legends. King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, and the sorcerer Merlin. My father is even named Uther Pendragon. By themselves, our names are no more than an interesting coincidence. But then came the memories.”

“Memories?” Morgause cocked her head.

“Fleeting snatches at first, and stronger with time,” Morgana agreed. “I would suddenly recall things that I could never have lived through. A time when I was a lady in a castle. A fleeting sense that I had once been lonely and betrayed. I looked at my friends and saw them, for a second, not in modern clothes but gowns, chain mail and rough sewn shirts.

“Then, two nights ago, Merlin met with the great dragon, Kilgarrah. Merlin, it turns out, had wiped his own memories. When he regained them, I, Arthur, Gwen and Gaius did too. And I remembered growing up in Camelot. I developed magic back then too. And eventually I trained as a High Priestess under a woman who was my half-sister, and also named Morgause.” Morgana let her gaze fix on Morgause, who was staring at her like she couldn’t decide whether to be outraged or frightened. “I remembered betraying my half-brother Arthur and being killed by Excalibur, wielded by Merlin.”

Morgana took a breath. “The dragon revealed the rift to Merlin. Now, for the last several hours, our office has been working to the bone to gather forces to address the disaster. We have plans already taking form. Aglain of the druids is ready to work with us. He adds his voice to the chorus asking the Priestesses of the Triple Goddess to finally step out of hiding and prove their power and their love for Albion. I beg of you, don’t let your pride and fear drive your decision. It’s what led to my downfall millennia ago, and it will do the same for you now.”

The forest’s hum filled the silence for far too long. Morgana twisted her fingers compulsively. Tracy’s eyes looked about ready to pop out of her face.

“You don’t do yourself any favors by tying yourself to Emrys,” Morgause finally said. “He has never been our friend.”

“He’s been mine,” Morgana said stoutly. “And whatever differences he and the priestesses have had, he wants this rift fixed as badly as you do. He’s not a vindictive or violent man by nature. He’s urged me to talk to you. He _wants_ to mend tied with you.”

“Never mind Emrys. You understand how problematic your claim of reincarnation is?” Sulwyn asked. “A soul cannot—“

“I understand that,” Morgana said. “But this is what I know. I can’t deny what I remember.”

“Then tell us this,” Morgause said, her voice soft. “When you met this other Morgause, what did she give you?”

Morgana’s lips parted as she studied Morgause’s face, tried to find some hint of the woman’s thought process. “A bracelet from Vivienne, our mother,” Morgana finally said. “It helped ease my visions. It’s what made me want to trust her.”

“Bracelet?” Sulwyn looked between Morgause and Morgana. “What bracelet? Morgause? What are you talking about?”

“I think,” Morgause did not move her eyes from Morgana. “We ought to call the other High Priestesses. We ought to converse with the Disir, and we ought to give this serious consideration.”

“Have you lost your senses?” Sulwyn’s voice rose in pitch.

“The opposite,” Morgause shook her head. “I have regained them.” Something was happening in her eyes, something like excitement. “If Nimueh and I both call for a council, then it must happen, no?”

“Those are the rules,” Sulwyn huffed. “But Morgause—“

“Then I call for a full council.” Morgause turned her head. “Nimueh?”

“Seconded,” Nimueh practically sang.

“But Emrys—“

“Is not an ideal ally, but these are desperate times,” Morgause turned to Sulwyn completely. “Please, my sister, you will be able to speak your mind when we all meet. Until then, peace.”

Sulwyn twitched her head to Morgana and looked her up and down, like she hoped to find some catch in the worn pea coat and thick scarf.

“Then let me ask my own question,” she said. “Morgana, you said you trained as a High Priestess. What is the Last Prayer to the Triple Goddess?”

For several gut-wrenching seconds, Morgana didn’t have the faintest idea of what Sulwyn was talking about. But then she looked at Morgause and she remembered when Morgause had taught her that prayer in a cool cave that had smelled pleasantly of damp stone and fresh moss. Morgause had held Morgana’s hands and her voice had been low, kind, and steadying.

Morgana opened her mouth and listened to a foreign language spill from it. She kept eye contact with Morgause and willed her to understand, _This is for you. This is what you did for me._

When Morgana finished, the words hung in the air longer than they should have. And although Morgana couldn’t have readily translated them, she knew that she’d given the correct answer.

Sulwyn’s expression just confirmed it.

And then, after a few seconds, Sulwyn turned to Tracy and said in a tight voice, “Send the word out. A full council is to be held.”

Tracy bowed once, then scurried off into the glade. Morgana would have bet anything that the news would reach every member of the order within the hour.

Sulwyn gathered her robes and eyed Morgana again, but this time there was less hostility and more pure curiosity.

“We’ll get in contact with you when we come to a decision,” she said. Morgana bowed again.

“Thank you,” she said.

Sulwyn’s lips tightened, but she did nod before turning and striding into the pine glade. Morgause paused before she followed and flashed Morgana a hesitant smile. Morgana beamed in return.

“You. Were. Brilliant,” Nimueh muttered low in her ear, causing Morgana to turn away. “Language down pat. Good job with the bracelet and Last Prayer. That might be our saving grace.”

“I think Morgause remembers me,” Morgana said, glancing over to Morgause’s receding back.

“Of course she does. I mean, I guessed it. She says things sometimes and was really keen on mentoring you. You just helped break a few things open, and now I’m pretty much certain that she’s on our side.” Nimueh made a high-pitched sound of glee. “This might work. My Goddess, this might actually work.”

“I hope so,” Morgana rubbed at her forehead and released a massive sigh.

“Okay,” Nimueh grasped at Morgana’s hands. “I’m going to pop you back to Newcastle then head to this council. I’ll let you lot know what happens soon as I can.”

As the tingling and rushing sensation filled Morgana’s palms again, she couldn’t help but share’s Nimueh’s conviction that they’d actually have a chance.


	14. Chapter 14

“I mean it’s no resort,” Gwen placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the field. “But it’ll work.”

“It’s certainly big enough,” Merlin agreed, tugging his woolen hat over his ears.

“It’s frigid,” Arthur complained on Gwen’s other side. “You sure we couldn’t have found a cabin or something?”

“We’re trying to be inconspicuous,” Gwen told him. “Which means camping.”

“C’mon, Arthur, we used to sleep outside all the time,” Merlin said encouragingly. “Remember that one time you insisted we follow that hart all the way into the next kingdom over? In the dead of winter? With several feet of snow on the ground? And I got frostbite? That was _way_ worse.”

“You never got frostbite,” Arthur’s voice came muffled through his scarf.

Gwen stifled a giggle and swept her eyes across the wide field again.

It was a nice place, if she said so herself. Wide and forgiving, with one dirt road leading to Belford. A line of trees marked the River Wear, which glistened muddily.

And granted, the field had grown a little feral from too many years left fallow, but its owner was living several thousand miles away, and Gwen had made several precautions to ensure he never heard about them borrowing the space for a few days. If magic was involved, well, no reason to ignore a tool when it was available. Leading a kingdom full of magic users had taught her that much.

“It’s odd,” Merlin said suddenly. “I can feel the rift. It’s like an ache in the back of my head.”

“Does it hurt?” Arthur asked.

“It doesn’t feel quite right.”

Gwen hummed and scanned the land again, as if a physical crack in the earth might manifest, but it looked as bucolic as ever. A movement near the tree line caught her eye.

“Got some druids already setting up camp,” she said in a pleased voice. And indeed, in one corner of the meadow, several small white tents were already rising from the grasses. Gwen spotted children hanging the colorful prayer ribbons that druids always set up around their camp, and this time didn’t bother suppressing the grin. Druids were a wonderful group of people; they really were.

“We should go say hello,” Merlin declared.

“That’s a bad idea,” Arthur said automatically.

“It’s a _wonderful_ idea,” Gwen countered. On impulse, she hooked her arms through Merlin’s and Arthur’s and tugged them toward the druids. The field had a mild downward slope to it, so they ended up taking long, bounding steps.

“They’re going to recognize me,” Arthur tried, tugging fruitlessly at where his arm had linked up with Gwen’s.

“I’ve told you, our office has good relations with the druids of the area,” Merlin looked over Gwen’s head. “You’ll be fine.”

“They hear the name Pendragon, and see how long that lasts.”

“Don’t fuss, Arthur,” Gwen said. “Merlin and I can protect you.”

“Don’t need _protection_ ,” Arthur muttered.

Several of the children called out to their elders as Gwen, Merlin and Arthur neared. A few of the bolder ones ran up to greet them, showing gap-toothed smiles and mussed hair.

“H’lo,” one tiny girl, no older than five, said around her thumb.

“Ah yes,” Merlin said in a low voice. “Truly dangerous.”

“Merlin, I swear—“

“You’re the folks from the DMM then?” a voice called out. Gwen looked up and nearly swore.

The young man striding toward them had dark, curling hair, cloudy eyebrows and grey-blue eyes. When he neared, he scooped up the girl, perched her on his hip, and added, “My name is Mordred. And you’re…Gwen?” His smile turned self-conscious. “I just remember when you interviewed some people from my clan a few months back. I was the one in the background mending tents.”

Gwen roused herself enough to smile politely.

“That’s me,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Mordred. How’s your clan faring this winter?”

“We’re getting by,” Mordred readjusted the girl on his hip while she kept her eyes on the three strangers. “Game has been scarce and our stores are always a little lower than we thought they’d be.” He shrugged. “Everyone’s saying the rift is to blame. It’s throwing everything off balance.”

“It _has_ been an especially cold winter,” Merlin spoke up.

“And it was an especially dry summer and autumn,” Mordred turned his attention to him. “Sorry, never got your name.”

“Merlin. Merlin Emerson,” Merlin shook Mordred’s hand. “And that’s our coworker Arthur Pendragon.”

“Ah, a Pendragon,” Mordred grinned when he shook Arthur’s hand. “Heard some of my people were giving you a hard time in the big city.”

“Just a bit of trouble,” Arthur’s smile was plastered on.

“Though you probably should have expected it,” Mordred continued. “Especially after expanding the list of prohibited spells. Bit harsh wasn’t it? My great aunt Kelly complains she can’t even start a cooking fire anymore.”

 “Well technically my father was the one who did that,” Arthur said.

“Same difference. No offense.”

“Down!” the girl suddenly squeaked, and started wriggling madly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mordred plopped her back among the grass, and she scurried away as fast as her fat legs would carry her. “Anyway,” he straightened. “Come have some tea. Halya’s blends are some of the best in the area.”

“I probably ought to—“ Arthur started.

“We’d love to,” Gwen cut in.

“Great. Kara’s just got a fire going.” Mordred turned to lead them to the collection of tents. Gwen paused at the name, though she couldn’t puzzle out why.

She shook the thought away, let Mordred get a little ahead of them, then ducked her head toward Arthur and said in a low voice, “Entertaining guests is a very important part of druid culture. It’d be rude to refuse.”

“I know,” Arthur hissed back. “But it’s…god, that’s _Mordred_.”

“We’re aware,” Gwen caught Merlin’s eye. “What do you want us to do about it? Are you afraid?”

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “Just. It’s jarring.”

“I feel like he’s not the last familiar face we’ll be seeing,” Merlin said around a sigh. “People from the old days are everywhere, you do realize that?”

“I’m increasingly aware,” Arthur swatted aside a few tall grasses. “You sure you had nothing to do with this?”

“I have lots of power, but not enough to bring this many people back,” Merlin held up his hands. “I am claiming no responsibility.”

They had to cut their hushed conversation short when they approached a merrily roaring fire with about six people sitting around it. A few more were scattered around the camp, setting up tents or doing other chores.

“Hello,” a young woman with dark brown hair approached them with earthenware cups. “I’m Kara. Welcome to our camp.” Gwen’s heart sank. She remembered now.

Kara took a brief sip from the cup, then held it out. It took a few seconds for Gwen to finally remember herself and step forward to accept the cup. She too took a sip, completing the small greeting ritual: a practice as common among druids as shaking hands.

“I’m Gwen,” she said as she lowered the cup, “and this is Merlin and Arthur.”

This time, she did not say Pendragon. She still recalled the vehemence in Kara’s voice when she proclaimed her hatred for Arthur to a full court.

She still remembered the sound of the noose when it groaned under the weight of Kara’s body.

“It’s good to meet you, Kara,” Arthur said slowly, and Gwen felt a flush of pity for him. Arthur had never liked executions. This one had weighed heavier on him than most.

Suddenly, Gwen hoped that Kara continued to believe that her only life had been in this century. A girl her age didn’t need to remember genocide or how to kill men with deadly efficiency.

“Will you stay a while?” Mordred asked as he approached them with two more cups of tea for Merlin and Arthur. “It’s just been this group for the last month and we’re aching for some new conversation.”

“Mordred can only update us on the progress of his new bow and arrow for so long,” Kara tilted her head up at Mordred with a sly grin, and earned herself a stuck-out tongue in return.

“Yes,” Gwen nodded. “I think we will. We’ve all been busy and,” she glanced at Arthur. “It might do us some good to sit down for a while.”

Arthur gave one last show of resistance, but soon enough they had him sandwiched between the old woman tending the soup, who kept calling Arthur “such a handsome young man,” and a brawny, middle-aged man who seemed thrilled to have someone new to lecture to about honey gathering.

“It’s all in the smoke,” he told Arthur with a conspiratorial wink. “Just the right temperature and _conk_. The little rascals never know what hit them.”

Soon enough, the soup was passed around in stout wooden bowls, and the conversation rose and fell in a pattern that indicated a group of people who knew one another very well and moreover, enjoyed one another’s company. Gwen let the stress of the last few days drift away as she answered curious questions about her job. If the druids had any hard feelings toward the DMM, they were too polite to let them show. Instead Gwen found herself discussing the Belford project. Several people remembered her from her rounds of interviews, and were eager to hear about the project’s progress.

“Just so long as it’s this young lady in charge,” an old man said at one point, waving his spoon, “And not old Uther, it should end up just fine.” Several people laughed at this, though Arthur visibly stiffened. But then the conversation drifted to how the rift business would be solved, and any discussion of Uther Pendragon fell to the wayside.

“The rift will be healed in its own way,” the old woman next to Arthur said with placid certainty. “The land is older and smarter than us. It knows what it is doing.”

Although at first Gwen kept snatching glances at Mordred and Kara, they continued to do nothing more notable than make bad jokes and play-chase the children. At some point Gwen had to acknowledge that they were alive, they were happy, and her fussing over them wouldn’t do anyone any good. So instead she let the aforementioned Halya read her fortune (“A handsome admirer lies in your future!”) and watch as a few of the younger druids initiated a contest of forming pictures from the fire’s sparks.

A swan, a horse, and even a vast forest flickered into view. Gwen had to laugh and clap her hands when her own likeness coalesced above the fire, conjured by a young druid boy who blushed when she told him that he’d done a wonderful job.

“There’s that handsome admirer,” Merlin nudged at Gwen’s side, and Gwen made a face at him.

“Oh hush, don’t embarrass the poor thing.”

Across the fire, Arthur watched the gratuitous displays of magic with a slightly furrowed brow. Not in anger, Gwen decided, but in thought.

“How beautiful!” Halya suddenly said, and Gwen tilted her head up to find the new picture forming in the air. It took a moment, but eventually she recognized the shape of the neck and then wings.

A dragon. Lithe and powerful. The old symbol of Camelot.

“Who made that?” the honey gatherer asked. “There’s some wonderful detail.”

No one spoke, but the druids didn’t seem too set on discovering the artist, just appreciated the dragon for its beauty. But Gwen’s eyes snapped to Merlin. He had a glimmer of gold in his eyes that made Gwen shiver with something like excitement. More than that, he had his gaze fixed on Arthur. And Arthur was looking back. His expression was twisted into something…something sad, Gwen decided. Regretful.

Gwen flicked between the two of them, feeling like she was intruding on something extremely private, but also unable to look away.

Then Merlin dropped his eyes, the dragon dissolved, and Kara took her turn to weave a grand country house into existence.

Gwen tucked the moment away.

A little while later, Gwen’s mobile buzzed in her jeans pocket. She fished it out, saw Gaius’ name, and stuck one finger in her ear as she pressed ‘answer’ and brought the mobile to her face.

“Hello?”

“Gwen. Do you have Merlin and Arthur with you?” Gaius’ voice sounded tinny and static, and when Gwen pulled the phone away from her face to check the screen, she found one lonesome bar flickering at her.

“Um, yes.” Gwen put the phone back up to her ear and looked guiltily around at the camp. “We’re with the druids.”

“Oh good,” Gaius huffed. “You’d all disappeared, the mobile signal here is touch and go, and I wasn’t sure whether to start panicking. Morgana’s just come back from her trip into town with more camping supplies. We should be fine for the next few days.”

“Great,” Gwen chirped. “Any word from the priestesses?”

“Not a one. I’m not surprised though. Force nine talented, powerful people to agree on anything, and it’s bound to take some time.”

“Well, you should both come down here,” Gwen said, then paused. She hesitated, and said. “There’s a young man named Mordred here.”

She listened to a long silence.

“Interesting,” Gaius said. “He doesn’t remember…?”

“No.”

“I see. Well, I’ll let Morgana know. She can decide whether or not she wants to join you. As for me, I might have to decline. I’m usually in bed by this time.”

“You poor man,” Gwen grinned. “You could be in a nice bed right now instead of roughing it with us young folk.”

“I beg your pardon,” Gaius sniffed. “But in my day, I practically lived from campsite to campsite and carried everything I needed on my back. _And_ studied all manner of dangerous beasts. A few nights in a tent will hardly do me in.” A pause. “Though if my back acts up, I do have an air mattress handy.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gwen said. “I’ll let you go then. Big day tomorrow.”

“Indeed. Tell Merlin and Arthur to get to bed at a reasonable time. Sleep might be taken in snatches from here on out.”

“Yes sir,” Gwen promised.

After bidding Gaius a good night, Gwen hung up and realized that while she’d been talking, the little girl from earlier had decided that Arthur’s lap was the perfect place to play with her woven grass doll. Arthur was listening with a concentrated expression as the girl explained something about her doll, making it run up and down Arthur’s shoulders and head. It made something bloom inside Gwen, and she ended up watching Arthur and the girl for a solid several minutes.

“You’ve got that look,” a voice suddenly reached her. “What are you thinking about?” She looked over. The fire leapt bright orange and reflected on Merlin’s pale face.

“Camelot,” Gwen said in a low voice. “A lot of things… they never happened.”

Merlin’s mouth curled into a sad smile.

“There was that one year,” he said, leaning forward. “When Uther was sick. Arthur was practically king. You were all but queen. The knights were all alive. And we were happy, I think.”

“I think so too,” Gwen rested her chin in her hand and gazed into the fire. “Maybe,” she said after a moment. “If Albion was the one to bring us all back…I mean, we’re mainly here to heal it, I think, but maybe it was also giving us a gift. Another chance.” Her eyes drifted to Mordred.

“Maybe,” Merlin gave a breathy laugh. “Wouldn’t be surprised. Albion was always deeply fond of you and Arthur, you know.”

“Really?” Gwen tilted her toward Merlin again. “How did you know?”

“I could feel it, once I learned to be sensitive to that kind of thing. It keened loudest when Arthur died, and it only ever keened like that again when you passed.”

“Mm,” Gwen hummed. “I suppose I ought to be flattered.”

“You really should. You know, if I remember it correctly, while we all did the dramatic magic and sword swinging and dying, you actually led Camelot through the Golden Age and made magic legal, didn’t you?”

“I mean…” Gwen shrugged. “I suppose.”

“I’m serious. For all the fuss over this one,” Merlin jerked his thumb over at Arthur. “I’m fairly sure Albion was aiming to get you on the throne all along.”

“Now you’re just heaping it on, aren’t you?” Gwen shoved at Merlin’s arm.

“Maybe,” Merlin shoved back.

At that moment, her mobile buzzed again. Gwen found a text from Morgana that read, _Got tent set up. Going to bed now. I don’t think I’m ready to see Mordred yet._

Gwen texted back, _Understandable. I’ll try not to wake you up._

“Morgana,” Gwen answered Merlin’s questioning expression. “She didn’t feel up to coming out.”

“Can’t blame her,” Merlin sighed.

When the stars had come out in full, children started to grow cranky and a few of the adults set about getting them to bed. Merlin stood and stretched and told Gwen that he should probably sleep as well.

“I’m going back to Newcastle tomorrow to do a great dragon heist,” he said grimly. “Going to have to be alert for that.”

“Good luck,” Gwen told him.

After Merlin had disappeared into the dim field, Gwen returned to watching Arthur. He still had the little girl in his lap, and was now watching her shoot tiny colored sparks from her fingers. She babbled at Arthur while she lit up his face with blue, green, and red light.

The old woman who had been tending the soup said something to Arthur, and he nodded before handing the girl off. Gwen could hear the girl protest that she wasn’t sleepy as she was carried off to one of the tents.

The honey gatherer and changed his seat nearly an hour ago, so Arthur was left on his log by himself. Gwen stood and rounded the fire to sit next to him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey,” Arthur rested his cheek in his hand and smiled sleepily at her. “So I have a theory that magic children like to talk. A lot. Merlin certainly held onto it.”

“I see,” Gwen tilted her head back. “You two looked adorable, by the way. I think Merlin has a few pictures.”

“Not even surprised,” Arthur huffed. He rubbed at his face, frowned briefly at the banking fire, then said, “Do you regret that we never had kids?”

Gwen sat up straighter.

“Some part of me does,” she said. “I wish we’d had the _time_ to have children.” She shrugged. “Fate never meant for us to grow old together, I suppose.”

“I wish it had,” Arthur said in a weary voice. “But Guinevere.” She turned to face him, because something in his voice compelled her to. “I am very glad you got to live a full life.” He made a sudden face. “Sorry. I’m tired. I’m feeling a little...”

“Soppy?” Gwen suggested.

“Sorry,” Arthur repeated.

“Don’t be,” Gwen slumped in a sudden rush of affection. “You’re allowed to have feelings, you know. You’re not a king this time. No one’s watching you that closely.”

“I know,” Arthur pulled at his mouth. “But to be fair, I’ve been raised in politics this time around too. Habits get hard to kick.”

He opened his mouth in a sudden yawn.

“Want to head to bed?” Gwen asked.

“Sounds marvelous,” Arthur acquiesced.

After bidding good night to the druids, Gwen and Arthur began ambling toward the cars and tents that marked their own camping site. The moon was full enough that they didn’t need flashlights, and they craned their heads to watch the stars wheeling overhead.

“Gwen,” Arthur’s voice cut through the dimness. “What should we do about us?”

Gwen took another few steps in silence. She’d have been lying if she claimed that she hadn’t thought about it.

“I’m not one hundred percent certain,” she admitted. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur sighed. “I know how much I loved you. I’m just not sure…”

“I think it would feel forced,” Gwen spoke up. “Like we’re just falling back into each other because it’s what we used to do.”

“Oh thank god, you know what I’m talking about,” Arthur groaned. “I didn’t know how to voice it without sounding like an incredible prick.”

“I mean,” Gwen continued. “Getting my memories back didn’t squash the crush I’ve had on Lance. And they can only have helped the thing between you and Merlin.”

She didn’t even realize that Arthur had stopped at first. She looked behind her and found Arthur haloed with moonlight, staring at her.

“What?” he asked in a blank voice.

“Don’t make me outline it for you,” Gwen sighed. He didn’t say anything. “Arthur, you love that man as hard as you’ve ever loved anything. And vice versa.”

“I’m not—“

“I never said it had to be a romantic love. But it’s still love.”

“Not more than I loved you,” Arthur said desperately.

“I never said that,” Gwen took a few paces toward Arthur. “Love doesn’t work like that. I’m just saying. You two always had a bond, and anyone who spent more than an hour around you could tell.”

“So…what’s your point?” Arthur asked.

“Dunno. That I might end up falling for Lance permanently this time,” Gwen shrugged. The words made pleasant sense as they fell from her mouth, as if her brain had waited until this moment to reveal its solution to her. “You might decide that what you feel for Merlin has a romantic element. We might find people who we’ve never met before. Or we might decide we want to fall in together again. I just think we ought to keep our options open.” Arthur gazed at her, and his eyes looked ever so slightly damp.

“It’s confusing,” he confessed. “It’s so…I’ve got twin lives running side by side in my head and…I can’t keep them straight sometimes. Magic and Merlin and Morgana and you and druids. It’s…it’s hard.”

“I know,” Gwen sagged. She toed at the grass.

“But we all have each other, you know. That counts for something,” Arthur continued.

“Yeah.” In the next second, Arthur had engulfed Gwen in a hug. Gwen made a small sound and leaned into Arthur’s comforting bulk. He smelled utterly familiar. Like home.

“You’re still one of my best friends,” Gwen muttered. “I couldn’t bear the thought of not having you around. I really couldn’t.”

“God, me neither,” Arthur pulled away. “No, don’t even…we’re going to have to stay neighbors or something. Like, forever. Damnit, Gwen, either we’re having kids together or we’re going to end up being each other’s Auntie Gwen and Uncle Arthur and…and trade off babysitting duties. That’s our only options.”

“Fine, fine,” Gwen burst into tired giggles and rested her forehead on Arthur’s shoulder again. “That kid really gave you the baby bug, didn’t she?”

“Her name is Ella,” Arthur sniffed. “And she’s four and three quarters.”

Gwen huffed another laugh, then grinned harder when Arthur dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

***

Morgana was already asleep when Gwen climbed into the tent. Her black hair was sprawled around her face and her eyes had bags under them. She’d been working too hard, especially since she returned from her talk with the High Priestesses.

“I guess I feel like I can redeem myself if I contribute enough,” Morgana had confessed to Gwen the day before, as they loaded the cars with camping supplies.

“We’ve already told you that you don’t have to,” Gwen frowned.

“But I do. You saying you’ve forgiven me doesn’t mean I didn’t torture you.”

Gwen had bitten her lip because her memories of the torture still had sharp edges.

She hadn’t been able to tell Morgana that she was wrong, because it was true. Forgiveness didn’t erase what Gwen had undergone. It didn’t erase Elyan’s or Gwaine’s death.

Now, Gwen slipped into her sleeping bag and gave herself a few seconds to watch Morgana’s brow furrow and smooth over in a steady rhythm. She hoped the dreams were normal ones tonight. She hoped Morgana didn’t have to wake up with the after-images of death and destruction on her mind.

It seemed like punishment enough.

***

Gwen jerked awake several hours later with a tight gasp.

It took her a moment to register the shuddering beneath her. She might have called it an earthquake, but she didn’t think that earthquakes usually sent a wave of nausea through her.

Gwen scrambled out of her sleeping bag and shoved at Morgana’s shoulder.

“Morgana!” she shouted. “Something’s happening. Morgana!”

But Morgana seemed dead to the world.

Swearing emphatically, Gwen zipped open the tent doors and stumbled outside.

As soon as she had tripped a few steps, the heaving ground stopped. Gwen swayed, trying to get her footing.

When she looked up, she found a figure; a black silhouette against the stars.

“Merlin?” Gwen edged forward. Her breath plumed in front of her. “What was that?”

No answer.

“Merlin?”

He turned to her suddenly. His eyes burned gold.

Gwen had to stifle a gasp.

“It’s started,” he said, and his voice sounded deeper than usual. “The foreshock. Albion is screaming.” He blinked. “Gwen, it hurts.”

Gwen edged forward and looked into Merlin’s golden eyes. The color made them alien, but they also looked sad and anxious. That gave Gwen enough courage to slip her hand into Merlin’s. His skin felt hot.

They didn’t say anything as they looked out over the field that remained still, save an occasional breeze that smelled like winter.


	15. Chapter 15

“It did something,” Gaius said seriously. “I got a call from a friend who felt that tremor all the way in Keswick. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole isle felt it.”

They were gathered in a large tent shelter that Arthur had set up last night “because it’s always a good idea to have a central meeting place.” Dawn had just barely broken, and their drawn faces were all illuminated by a few bobbing balls of light that Merlin had supplied.

“Does it mean we’re out of time?” Arthur asked, his arms crossed.

“It means we can’t dawdle,” Gaius said. “Everyone is scheduled to arrive today and tonight, and we’re going to have to get to work immediately.”

“I’m about to fetch Kilgarrah,” Merlin offered. “Maybe the tremor will prompt the priestesses to make a decision.”

“We’ll have to hope,” Arthur said.

As they all dispersed to their own duties, Gwen drifted near Morgana, who had not spoken a word the entire meeting and had bruise-like bags under her eyes.

“How are you?” she asked, falling into step with Morgana.

“Had another vision last night,” was all Morgana said. “It was bad.”

After that, she said that she needed to tend to some of her own things and disappeared into her tent. Gwen, who was already dressed (she hadn’t been able to fall back asleep last night), found Merlin and Arthur crouched over a fire.

“Sausage?” Arthur asked, offering a small sausage skewered on a stick.

“Like old times,” Gwen accepted the stick. She blew on the meat before taking a cautious bite. “Fresh venison is better,” she decided.

“Well that goes without saying,” Merlin said.

“Hello?” They all looked up to find Mordred and Kara a few paces away. Their carefree expressions from last night had disappeared; now Mordred looked pale and hunted, Kara anxious.

Arthur and Merlin stood. The fire filled the silence.

Mordred fell to his knees and bowed his head.

“What—“ Arthur looked around at Gwen and Merlin, as if they’d have answers.

“Sire,” Mordred started, “I have betrayed my oath—“

“Oh no,” Arthur leaned down and grasped at Mordred’s arm. He hauled him to a stand and brushed off his arms. “No, Mordred, there is no king and you never swore fealty to anyone. Don’t kneel.”

“So…but… then you _are_ King Arthur?” Mordred peered up at him. “Were King Arthur? Whatever?”

Arthur closed his eyes briefly.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” he tilted his head. “If you wanted to apologize for killing me, go ahead. But then I’d have to apologize to Kara here,” he nodded to her. “For hanging her. And in the end, I think we’re all more or less even.”

Mordred and Kara exchanged a glance.

“Is this a…recent development then?” Merlin chanced.

“We only remembered any of this last night,” Kara agreed. “Everyone felt Albion shudder, but for Mordred and me it tore something open and gave us…all these memories.”

“Really fresh, vivid ones,” Mordred added. “As if we were two different people all of a sudden.”

“Welcome to the club,” Gwen said wryly.

“But it’s not _right_ ,” Kara insisted. “This shouldn’t be happening. Souls would never come back fully themselves, much less in the same bodies, with the same names. Something is deeply wrong with it.”

“We think Albion did it,” Merlin said. “We’re not the only ones. I’d guess there are a few hundred people in this area who used to live thousands of years ago. I don’t know why we’ve all been brought back.”

“You never left in the first place though, did you Emrys?” Mordred asked. “I thought you’d gotten trapped in a tree somewhere. That’s what everyone was saying.”

“Nothing so dramatic,” Merlin admitted. “I went into hiding and wiped my own memories.” He paused. “That’s probably even more dramatic, actually.”

“What does it _mean_ though?” Kara demanded. “What goal would Albion have in bringing back _Uther Pendragon_?”

“We’d love to know,” Gwen said. “For now, we’re accepting what we have and working with it.”

Mordred nodded.

“Then you ought to consider that if Kara and I regained our memories last tonight, there might have been others. It’s—“

He stopped suddenly, staring at something past the fire. Gwen turned to find Morgana climbing out of the tent. She glanced over at them, did a double take, then stared.

“I…” Mordred mumbled some excuse and strode over to her. Those around the fire watched as Mordred approached the staring Morgana. Their words were too dim to hear, but eventually Mordred took both of Morgana’s hands in his own and said something in earnest. Morgana nodded, then pulled him into a hug.

“If Mordred is right,” Arthur said suddenly, “we might be having a whole lot of reunions today.”

They all looked at one another over the fire.

***

Arthur’s words proved to ring true.

A little after Merlin headed toward Newcastle, the first travelers of the day arrived. Another druid group from the area, related to Mordred’s clan and a bit larger. Among them was a young woman named Sefa, who somehow found Gwen to tell her shyly that she used to be her serving maid, and had betrayed her months before the battle of Camlann.

“I only recalled all this last night,” Sefa explained in earnest, tugging at her hair. “But I wanted to find you because Kara told me about what’s happening, and I needed to thank you for your mercy and well.” She ducked her head. “You were a fine queen, your majesty. A very fine queen.”

“Gwen,” Gwen said automatically. “Please. I’m just Gwen this time.”

The meeting left Gwen mildly shaken, but it heralded only the beginning of many such interactions.

The crowds of sorcerers, witches, warlocks, druids, and small-time spell casters swelled as the sun neared noon. News had spread, Gwen found, and soon men and women from seemingly all parts of the isle were arriving to lend what help they could. An old Scottish couple from Elgin who specialized in plant magic, a whole troop of young urban druids from Dublin, scads of witches from Swansea, a motorcycle gang of sorcerers from Norwich.

Gwen, Arthur and Gaius kept themselves busy taking note of who had arrived, answering questions, pointing people in the direction of the single water pump, (or, alternatively, the creek, if they were willing to boil) and otherwise trying to maintain some semblance of order.

Despite the grim circumstances that had gathered them, the field soon began to gain a festival-like atmosphere. Tents and campsites, despite Gwen’s efforts, had a scattered order to them. People who hadn’t seen each other for months, or even years, greeted one another with loud shouts. Some of the migrant druid groups with livestock had to keep them quartered at a far corner of the field, which soon led to an odor of animal when the wind blew in the right direction. But to counter that, campfires began to waft the smell of cooking food, which people offered one another freely. By noon, the center of the field had become an unofficial haggling center, where people could wander over to try and trade their fresh goat milk for a few bunches of carrots. Gwen definitely smelled weed. Several people had brought music with them, and Gwen heard the Cranberries’ “Zombie” at least six times, either blasted from someone’s portable stereo or sung with enthusiasm, if not skill.

Gwen wondered whether people knew that Arthur Pendragon was here and were making a point.

“Probably, but I’m used to that song at this point,” Arthur had said tiredly when Gwen asked him about it. “London is where it became the anthem of these druid freedom fighters, you know. Every single protest march has, like, five different renditions of it.”

“ _In your heeeaaad in you heeeeaaaad_ , _zombie, zombie, zombeh eh eh,”_ drifted over the crowds, like someone had heard their conversation.

Among the flood, familiar faces. Some Gwen only recognized from the streets of Camelot. Others had names, and greeted her as “My Lady” or “Queen Guinevere,” to her deep embarrassment. (Though it was nothing compared to the coughing fit Arthur got when one Edwin Muirden called him “King Arthur” with a completely straight face.)

All agreed that whatever had happened last night had broken all the barriers on their memories. Some seemed to have taken things in stride; others had Kara’s reaction.

Despite all this, Gwen was still not completely prepared for the caravan of cars and vans that rolled up the churned dirt road a little after lunchtime. At first she assumed a large group of sorcerers from the city had arrived, but then she realized that she recognized a few of the cars. That she had, in fact, learned to drive in the dark blue Mazda before it had been handed off to—

“Oh shit,” Gwen let her clipboard drop onto the old card table they were using as a front desk. “Oh _shit_.”

“What?” Arthur asked. He looked in the direction of the road.

“Oh shit,” he agreed.

“Come on!” Gwen grabbed at Arthur’s wrist and hauled him to the cars. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when Elyan stepped out of his blue Mazda, looked around, and only caught a glimpse of his sister before she’d all but barreled into him.

“Goddamn, Gwen, you gave me a heart attack,” he complained, but then again he was holding onto her as tightly as she was holding onto him.

“You were _dead_ ,” Gwen felt her eyes start to grow hot. “You went and _died_ and—“ she pulled away and gripped at Elyan’s shoulders. “Don’t do that to me again, Elyan Smith. You do that again I’ll never forgive you.”

“Noted,” Elyan grinned. “Never knew you cared so much, Gwennie.”

Gwen scowled, but the next second she’d pulled Elyan in for a second hug and it didn’t matter anyway.

When she and Elyan finally pulled apart, they found Arthur in the middle of enthusiastically reuniting with his knights. As soon as he caught sight of Elyan, he roared out a greeting and all but tackled him. Gwen stepped out of harm’s way and looked around at the crowd climbing out of their cars.

It seemed like half of the people she knew from the office and police station had come. There was Mithian, Annis, Monmouth, Cenred, Elena, Vivian, Cedric, Isolde, Tristan…all alive and grinning and whistling appreciatively at the crowd already collected in the field.

“Gwen?”

Gwen turned and found herself face to face with Lance.

“Oh thank god,” she breathed, and that just started another round of hugs and “I can’t believe we’re both here” and “This is utterly insane, I hope you recognize that.”

“What happened?” Gwen asked Lance, her hands still lingering on his arms. “Why are you here? I mean, not that I’m not glad to see everyone.”

“It was Freya, actually,” Lance told her cheerfully. “When we all got our memories back last night, none of us wanted to admit it. I mean, imagine walking into work and announcing you’re Sir Lancelot.”

“I’d have believed you,” Gwaine called out.

“But then Freya, she came into our office and more or less forced it out of us,” Lance continued. “Should have seen it. She was brilliant.”

“And she told us everything that was happening,” Leon jumped in. “I mean, first she told us she had magic and was the actual Lady of the Lake. That took a bit of time to process.”

“But then she also explained that she had heard rumors about something big going on in the magical community,” Percival added. “Some crack in the magic and a great gathering to fix it. And then we tried to find you lot—“

“But your office was empty,” Elyan picked up. “So Freya made some calls and discovered you all were here.”

“And we’re a bit duty bound to serve to our king and queen,” Gwaine shrugged. “Made an oath of fealty and everything. So we went around picking up people from the old days, and a few hours and one lost map later, here we are.” He spread his arms as if to encompass the entire group. “Freya will be here later by the way; she had to run some errands.”

“I never _lost_ the map,” Tristan protested.

“Well we certainly don’t know where it is anymore,” Isolde told him. She grinned at Gwen. “We realize none of us except Freya have a lick of magic, but we thought we might be helpful anyway.”

“Despite any past differences,” Cenred added gruffly.

Gwen and Arthur exchanged a look, and Gwen thought she might actually burst.

“Well,” she looked around at the crowd of familiar faces. “It’s a bit of a madhouse here, but I think we could use people as messengers. The mobile phones’ reception is scattered.”

“And organizers,” Arthur added. “No one knows where they’re going and Gwen and I can only handle so many questions at once.”

“You need anyone to set up some kind of food tent?” Elena asked. “I can run back into town and get supplies.”

“God, that’d be wonderful,” Gwen admitted.

“Well then,” Leon nodded. “Glad we came after all.”

***

Gwen found Morgana a few hours after giving her new staff a crash course on how they were running the camp.

Morgana looked much more awake as she edged through the crowd and waved both arms at Gwen.

“Hey,” Gwen greeted as they neared. “Where have you disappeared to all morning?”

“Sorry,” Morgana wrinkled her nose. “I know you’re in over your head but I needed to…well here.”

She yanked off her glove, held her hand palm up with her fingers splayed, and muttered something under her breath. A tiny flash of color splayed along her fingers. It reminded Gwen of what the little druid girl had been doing last night.

“That’s beautiful,” Gwen bent her head closer. The pulses of color snaked along Morgana’s pale fingers and jumped into the cold air.

“It’s little kid tricks,” Morgana tugged her glove back on. “Took me all morning to figure out.”

“No, it’s good,” Gwen said encouragingly. “Did Mordred help you?”

“Yeah, he and Kara. I want to be helpful when everyone starts tackling this rift. My magic is so ambiguous right now. I wanted to sharpen it a little.” She sighed heavily, creating a thick plume. “It’s frustrating, because I can tell that the magic is…familiar somehow. It’s like someone I don’t recognize immediately but would swear I’ve seen before, you see? It’s right there but I can’t reach it.” She frowned. “Do you think that’s possible? That I still have all my powers from last time? Just buried somehow?”

“I really have no earthly idea, but I give you permission to skip out to figure all that out,” Gwen said. “Besides, I now have a—Oh! Right! You’ll never guess who’s just arrived.”

“Everyone from Newcastle, I know,” Morgana nodded. “Gwaine, Leon and Elyan found us half an hour ago.”

“Oh,” Gwen hesitated. “How did that go?”

“Awkwardly. But Gwaine did eventually say, and I quote, ‘Well you were responsible for torturing and murdering me, granted, but even so I could tell we had something special between us.’ So I feel like he’s taking things in stride.”

Gwen bowed her head to snort.

“That sounds like Gwaine,” she agreed.

“The others weren’t so joking about it,” Morgana crossed her arms. “Especially Elyan.”

Gwen fiddled with her scarf for a moment while she thought.

“Elyan’s a forgiving person in general,” she said. “Always has been. He might not be able to joke about it, but I don’t think he’s going to grudge you for long.” She touched at Morgana’s arm. “It’s easier to forgive these things when we get a second chance.”

“Is that why you’re able to forgive me for what I did to you?” Morgana asked. Like a dog worrying at the same old bone, Gwen thought.

Gwen bit her lip. It felt wrong to discuss things this personal in a churning crowd of sorcerers. But Morgana still was watching her with that hunted expression.

“Yes,” Gwen said honestly. “Because I’ve been able to live a very nice life so far, with you as a friend. If you’d come to me back in our old lives, after everything, I’d probably have been able to forgive you then too, but it would have taken much longer. And I probably could never have forgiven you in full. I mean let’s be real here. What you did to me was ghastly. You dragged me around in _chains_.” She peered up at Morgana. “And I’m not saying that was okay. I think I’d have every right to tell you to fuck off. But I don’t want to.” She took a breath. “I care about you—about us—too much.”

A long pause.

“Does that help?” Gwen asked.

“Yes,” Morgana breathed. “It does.”

“Ok then. That’s good.”

And as they stood facing each other, two still things in a river of movement, Gwen suddenly felt as if some invisible weight had been taken from them. It left her feeling lighter.

***

The day had just started edging into early evening when Gwen stepped out of the tent and nearly bumped into Lance.

“Oh, gosh, sorry,” she fumbled with her papers.

“No no, my fault,” Lance hurried. “I should’ve been watching…” he paused. “Listen, do you have a minute?”

Technically speaking, Gwen didn’t think she did, but she still found herself nodding. She already had a guess as to what this was about.

“So um,” Lance glanced away and rubbed at the back of his head. “I…we used to have something, right? Back in Camelot.”

Gwen took a deep breath.

“Yes,” she agreed. “We most certainly did.”

“And we have a thing now. The last few months.”

He looked so earnest and terrified all at once, that Gwen relaxed and grinned. She found herself innumerably relieved that she’d already figured all this out with Arthur. It made things much easier.

“We do,” she told him.

“Do?”

“I still like you very much, Lance. I’ve always liked you.”

“Right.” Lance licked his lips. “It’s just that. Well, everyone knows the love triangle business, which already makes things awkward and now that we all remember ourselves I really had no idea what to think anymore and I _know_ you’re busy with this. I wasn’t trying to trip you up with a lot of romance nonsense when we’ve got some magical apocalypse coming but I still…damn, you’re still extremely important to me and—“

“I’ll tell you what I told Arthur last night,” Gwen gently cut him off. “We’re going to let things take their course. I don’t want to tell you that we don’t have a chance anymore, because we definitely do. But I can’t make any final calls right now. I need a chance to let things settle.”

“That’s….yeah, that’s fair,” Lance nodded earnestly. “That’s very, very fair.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Gwen smiled, then pressed a chaste kiss to Lance’s cheek, similar to the one Arthur had left on the crown of her head. It felt right, like the completing of a circuit.

“You know though,” Gwen added. “I wouldn’t worry about the love triangle too much. The French were the ones to tack that on. It’s not in the older legends.”

“Oh?”

“And some texts,” Gwen continued. “Say that Sir Lancelot was also in love with King Arthur. Of course I think everyone was a little in love with everyone, so take that as you will.”

“Oh,” Lance repeated, though his tone was completely different this time.

Gwen started to move past Lance. “Now no offense, but I need to find the warlocks from Birmingham and ask them to limit their firework use. We’ve had six complaints already and we really can’t afford to be squabbling.”

***

Gwen found Arthur and Gaius in the central tent nearly an hour later (negotiating with the Birmingham druids had taken more time and effort than Gwen had foreseen) and promptly announced that she was sitting down for ten minutes, so help her.

“Might join you,” Arthur said as he squinted at something on his mobile. “Damn,” he said a second later. “Still not sending.”

“Who’re you trying to text?” Gwen yawned.

“Merlin. He’s been gone literally all day.”

“I haven’t seen any billows of smoke on the horizon, so he’s probably fine,” Gaius said.

“That’s not funny,” Arthur frowned.

“I’ve learned to have a sense of humor about Merlin’s questionable endeavors,” Gaius said as he headed for the exit. “God only knows how many of them he made me endure in Camelot. At least this isn’t another assassination attempt.”

Arthur watched Gaius as he disappeared into the crowd.

“That man,” he said as he tightened his coat around him. “Has always known far too much about everything.”

“It’s his job,” Gwen yawned for a second time.

Arthur hummed, then sat in the plastic picnic chair next to Gwen’s.

He fiddled with his mobile another few minutes before giving up and letting it plonk into his lap.

“At the very least,” he frowned down at it. “This means my father can’t reach me or Morgana until all this is over.”

“Oh yeah,” Gwen sucked air in through her teeth. “He’s bound to remember everything by now, isn’t he?”

“Unless Albion has mercy on all of us.” Arthur sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “It’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Well,” Gwen suggested. “Maybe we ought to focus on one thing at a time.”

“That,” Arthur slouched further into his seat. “Is probably excellent advice.” A few moments later, he suddenly tilted his head in Gwen’s direction. “By the way,” he said. “I found out something interesting a bit ago.”

“What’s that?”

“I owe you congratulations, Mrs. Leon Lemarc.”

Gwen studied Arthur for several seconds.

“No one takes their husbands’ first _and_ last names these days,” she finally said.

“But you and Leon. Married.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Not at all actually,” Arthur shrugged. He laughed. “Leon told me this like it was all some big shameful secret. I just told him that if you were going to remarry, of course it would be to him. But still,” he grinned slyly over at Gwen. “You don’t do badly for yourself, do you Guinevere?”

“Mm,” Gwen side-eyed him, trying to smother her own grin.

“You have a _type_ ,” Arthur added, which earned him a truly spectacular eye roll.

“For goodness sake, we’d known each other for forever and liked each other immensely and it was smart politically speaking,” Gwen threw up her hands. “Honestly. You don’t know how iffy it was running a kingdom when you married into the position, and started off as a commoner at that. Leon had some nobility at least. It made all the old windbags stop gibbering about pure blood lines for once.”

“Well screw the windbags anyway,” Arthur leaned back in his chair. “I’ve seen you take them head on.”

“I never said I couldn’t handle them,” Gwen said. “But they were getting to be a nuisance. I had better things to concentrate on. Making magic legal, for one, something you never seemed to manage.”

Arthur unexpectedly threw back his head for a belly laugh.

“What?”

“You’ve still got it,” he grinned at Gwen. “In spades.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gwen countered.

“So should I count Leon as competition too?” Arthur asked.

“Oh good lord. Just watch,” Gwen jabbed a finger at him. “I’m going to elope with Morgana and leave all you smelly boys behind.”

“Hah,” Arthur sat straighter. “I always knew you two had something.”

“Just like you and Merlin?”

Arthur’s grin faltered.

“Maybe,” he said. All the mirth had left his voice, and Gwen thought she understood. Thinking about love—real, deep, actual love that no one had acknowledged with plain words yet—could be daunting. Still, she managed to feel a bit guilty bringing it up.

She tilted her head to the side.

“Hey,” she held out her hand. Arthur hesitated before he took it. Their fingers felt familiar, twined in one another.

They sat in companionable silence for not ten, but fifteen whole minutes. Gwen relished every second of it.

Only then the tent door flapped open, and Gwen and Arthur had to let their hands separate as they stood. Percival leaned into the tent, eyes wide and breathing deeply.

“There’s…Merlin is…” he waved a hand ineffectually. “Sod it. Just come see for yourself.”


	16. Chapter 16

Here was the thing about smuggling dragons out of a major city.

It was easy enough to reach them. A few spells, a little ducking through “Employees Only” doors and the rest was self-explanatory.

Getting the dragon out was a whole other issue.

“I mean I was thinking an invisibility charm?” Merlin suggested. “That’d be pretty easy to whip up.”

“That will work admirably,” Kilgarrah agreed. “Once you get me aboveground.”

“Uh huh,” Merlin scratched at his cheek. “That might be an issue, see. Because Gaius was telling me that they bricked you in and then added a lot of magical reinforcements to make sure you couldn’t break out. So there’s no actual path to ground level.”

“And naturally, you and Gaius came up with a cunning plan around this problem.”

“Well we brainstormed,” Merlin allowed.

“I see,” Kilgarrah snaked his head closer. “I can see that your many years on this earth have served you well.”

“I don’t need your snark,” Merlin warned. “I _do_ have a plan. I just don’t know whether it’s going to work.”

Kilgarrah looked at him expectantly.

“See, if you were small enough, it’d be really easy to get you through the way I’ve been coming…so” Merlin watched Kilgarrah for a reaction.

It took a few seconds but then: “You’re not serious.”

“It’s the most likely to work.”

“ _That_ is what Emrys, thousands of years in age, comes up with?”

“Well what was your idea?”

“ _I_ thought it’s be more logical for you to strip this prison of it magical reinforcements,” Kilgarrah rumbled. “And then let me tear through it and show these puny—“

“Yeah, no,” Merlin held up a hand. “No murderous rampages, remember?”

“It wouldn’t be a _rampage_.”

“Besides, it’d take too long to pry open the magic holding you here,” Merlin continued. “If you couldn’t do it in twenty years, I’m not even going to bother.”

“If we combined our power—“

“No.”

Kilgarrah snorted a plume of fire.

“You’re lucky that the very foundation of magic is in danger,” he said after a long pause. “Otherwise this conversation would be far more drawn out.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a reluctant agreement.”

“Okay,” Merlin rubbed his hands together. “Now this could go one of two ways. Do you want to try de-aging or plain shrinking?”

If looks could kill, Merlin considered.

***

Twenty minutes later, Merlin shut the “Employees Only” door behind him, made sure no one was coming to yell at him, then speed walked to the stairs leading to the sidewalk.

His messenger bag shifted.

“Shh,” Merlin muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “It’s going to be a while until we’re out of city limits.”

“This bag smells,” came a voice that was perhaps not as grandiose and rumbling as it had been before.

“Apologies,” Merlin jogged up the steps, trying to jostle the bag as little as possible.

His car was thankfully where he’d left it, and soon enough he was speeding toward the outskirts of town.

“You could let me drive us all the way to Belford,” Merlin suggested as he idled at a stoplight.

“We cannot,” Kilgarrah said from his perch on the passenger seat. “I’ll get us to the rift much faster, and there are too many visits I must make on the way.”

He had opted for the shrinking route, and now looked like a toy version of himself. If Merlin didn’t have some sense of self-preservation, he’d have said the dragon looked adorable.

“Visits?” The light changed and Merlin lurched forward. “You never mentioned visits. Who are we visiting?”

“I’m mentioning it now,” Kilgarrah flicked his tiny tail. “We are visiting potential help.”

“We should be getting a good sized crowd, you know.”

“All human, yes? We can do better.”

“Well,” Merlin made his next turn perhaps a bit harder than it needed to be. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“My apologies, but humans live a depressingly short amount of time. We need creatures who have deeper ties to the land and longer memories.”

“I have a long memory,” Merlin said.

“Yes, but there’s only one of you.”

“Okay,” Merlin sighed. “We’ll fly.”

Soon enough (thought apparently not soon enough for the miniature dragon in the passenger seat) Merlin reached the countryside just outside of Newcastle and ended up pulling his car into a convenient set of bushes. He left it with a spell that would hopefully encourage people to ignore its presence.

Then came the business of getting Kilgarrah to his proper size (messy, but in the end achieved) and then shrouding him in a spell similar to what Merlin had cast on his car.

“Actual invisibility is overrated and overly difficult,” Gaius had once told Merlin. “Much better to just tweak with peoples’ perceptions. Easier to manipulate than light waves.”

And indeed, when Merlin had finished the spell, his vision kept blurring between seeing a dragon and a biplane.

“Come, come,” Kilgarrah lowered his head when Merlin announced that they’d safely be able to fly over the English countryside without causing mass hysteria. “Much to do today and not much time in which to do it.”

Riding a dragon, Merlin found, was much like riding a bicycle. If the bicycle had sharp spines and weighed several tons. The point was, Kilgarrah’s wing beats and the sway of his back felt deeply familiar to Merlin, and he found himself angling his body out of instinct.

He tried not to dwell on the fact that the last time he’d ridden Kilgarrah, he’d had a severely wounded Arthur in front of him.

Best not to think about that at all.

“Hold on,” Kilgarrah said after a half hour of flight, and angled his wings to dip down toward the earth. He landed with a heavy _thump_ in a wide moor.

“Where are we?” Merlin asked as he slid from Kilgarrah’s neck and immediately had to duck his head against the sharp winds.

“Near what you would call Dartmoor,” Kilgarrah said. “And what I would call the Land of the Exiled.”

“Who was exiled?”

“Several individuals from the faerie courts. They tend to congregate in remote areas like this to avoid humans. I believe you’ve met two of them, in fact,” Kilgarrah lumbered off to the right, sweeping aside shrubs and grasses

“Who’ve I—” It hit Merlin like a load of bricks, and he blanched before he reached out to thump at Kilgarrah’s scaled side.

“We’re going to ask a load of faerie criminals to help us?” he demanded. “It’ll never happen.”

“You’d be surprised,” Kilgarrah told him, not slowing down.

“But—”

“Well now,” a young female voice said. “Speak of the devil and he shall come.”

“Shit,” Merlin said with feeling.

The young woman standing in front of them was pretty in the way of round, pale faces and honey colored hair. The man just behind her was tall and proud looking.

They were also undeniably nonhuman.

“Greetings to you, Aulfric, Sophia,” Kilgarrah nodded. “I believe introductions are hardly needed.”

“Not since last night, no,” Aulfric narrowed his eyes at Merlin. “If this has been your idea of some grand joke—“

“Not me, it was Albion,” Merlin sighed out a large plume. “Believe me, if I wanted to start bringing people back to life, you two would hardly be on my list.”

“If I may,” Kilgarrah cut in. “We have larger issues than some past differences. Unless you’ve somehow missed Albion’s wound.”

“Can hardly miss it these days, can you?” Sophia asked. “It’s practically bleeding.”

“Then perhaps you see the urgency in healing it,” Kilgarrah flicked his tail. “All manner of creature are gathering to address the rift. Your presence would help immensely.”

“This isn’t even our land,” Aulfric sniffed. “We are of Avalon.”

“Not anymore you aren’t,” Merlin said, trying and failing to keep the annoyance from his voice. “Let me guess. Same crime? Exiled again?” Aulfric and Sophia gave him identical glares. “We’re just saying,” Merlin continued. “If Albion’s magic is damaged, so is all of our ability to do magic. Take your magic away, and what are you really? Just mortal humans.”

“Your insolence has not changed, Emrys,” Sophia spat. “Why should we help you? You _killed_ us.”

“To be fair,” Merlin pointed out. “You tried to kill Arthur first.”

“I—”

“Enough,” Kilgarrah rumbled, and that shut everyone up fairly quickly. “Give your answer,” Kilgarrah growled at the two Sidhe. “We don’t have time to squabble with a pair of exiles. Will you help us or not?”

Aulfric straightened, and when he answered, he pointedly did not look at Merlin.

“We have felt the land shaking,” he said slowly. “Its energy is off balance.” He cleared his throat. “It would indeed be a nuisance to lose our magic.”

“Then you will speak to the other exiles in this area,” Kilgarrah ordered. “You will recruit as many as you can. As fast as you can, you will fly to the town the humans call Belford. In a field there, you will find a grand gathering, and when the time comes, you will do your part to mend Albion’s rift.”

Aulfric and Kilgarrah looked one another in the eye, and Aulfric looked away first. He bowed deeply.

“Indeed,” he said. Then to Merlin, “This does not mean that we have forgotten what you did to us.”

“Let’s agree to avoid each other then,” Merlin said humorlessly. “Because I haven’t forgotten either.”

“You ought not make enemies of them for a second time,” Kilgarrah said several minutes later as they climbed into the air.

“I don’t think there _is_ any ‘second time’ here,” Merlin groused. He glanced over Kilgarrah’s side and found Aulfric and Sophia still watching them. “Faeries are all about grudges, I swear to god,” he said. “Do you think they’ll come?”

“They know better than to break their word with a dragon,” Kilgarrah said slyly, and that surprised a short laugh out of Merlin.

***

The next several hours had several such meetings, generally with creatures that Merlin had had no idea still existed, they’d hidden themselves away so effectively. But Kilgarrah was not to be deterred, and unnervingly rooted out dryads, elementals, pixies, griffins, satyrs: any creature with enough sentience to understand their request for help.

Nearly all, shockingly enough, agreed to travel to Belford. Some chose to follow right then and there, and soon they had a small retinue of magical creatures both in the air and on the ground.

“What’s so shocking about it?” Kilgarrah asked as they winged closer to Belford. “These fine creatures are much more sensitive to Albion than any druid.”

“Sure,” Merlin said, glancing at a troop of wyverns who followed Kilgarrah at a respectful distance. He wouldn’t be all that surprised if they turned out to be the ones he’d met back at the Fisher King’s palace. “But in my experience they’re hard to negotiate with.”

“I am a dragon,” Kilgarrah reminded him. “And this is not a situation with much room for negotiations. They know that.”

Their last stop was the coast, where they hoped to find help from the creatures of the ocean.

And the merfolk, bless them, were all but waiting for them.

“We’ve been here for monthsss already, enduring the cold,” their leader, a silvery merwoman, scolded Merlin in a sibilant voice. “The sssea always knowsss thingsss before the land.”

“That you did,” Merlin agreed, thinking back to the report from nearly a month ago. It felt more like a year ago.

“We’ll be quite near to the coast,” Kilgarrah told her. “And we will notify you when we begin. We thank you for your help.”

“Hardly,” the merwoman pointed a webbed finger. “You all are the onesss helping usss at thisss point.”

Neither Merlin nor Kilgarrah tried to argue the point.

***

Merlin knew they were making an entrance as soon as he saw the upturned faces and pointing fingers.

He couldn’t blame them either. Kilgarrah had torn off the concealing spell “because I refuse to arrive looking like a biplane” and he was already an imposing sight all by himself. Throw in wyverns, griffins, pixies, various spirits and elementals at his side, plus dryads, unicorns, kelpies, satyrs, and a manticore exploding through the tree line on the ground, and Merlin wasn’t surprised that they didn’t start a panic right then and there.

But then again, this was a crowd of people who lived with magic. So although they certainly caused a stir, it had more of a sense of amazement than terror.

Kilgarrah landed in a far corner of the field and was quickly joined by the other creatures. Merlin slid off his side, only to get attacked by someone who smelled vaguely of beer.

“I can’t believe it!” the someone pounded Merlin on the back. “Look at you! Flying in on a dragon like some badass.”

“Gwaine?” Merlin pulled back and stared at the man grinning at him like a loon. “I don’t—What are _you_ doing here?”

“Oh very nice,” Gwaine pouted. “Just died saving your ass. No need to thank me.”

“I didn’t mean tha—“ Merlin stopped when he saw Gwaine’s expression. “You bastard,” he said gleefully, and threw his arms around Gwaine’s neck.

Over Gwaine’s shoulder, Merlin saw a whole collection of familiar faces. Leon, Elyan, Lance…they surrounded Merlin and soon Merlin was caught up in greeting his friends like he hadn’t seen them in centuries. Which, in a manner of speaking, he hadn’t.

“Are _all_ of you here?” Merlin asked, looking around at them and somehow unable to wipe the grin from his face.

“Pretty much,” Lance said. “We carpooled.”

“Merlin!”

Merlin found Gwen, Arthur and Percival running up to them, and of course Merlin had to greet Percival, then allow Gwen and Arthur to fuss over him for “disappearing literally all day” and “did you not get _any_ of my texts? You could have been killed.”

A low rumble made everyone tilt their heads up to where Kilgarrah studied them like a living mountainside.

“Right,” Merlin cleared his throat. “Everyone, this is the Great Dragon, otherwise known as Kilgarrah. You might remember him as the one who nearly destroyed Camelot but other than that, he’s the one who helped me get my memories back and gathered, um, all these guys.” He waves a vague hand at the assortment of creatures watching from a short ways.

Arthur, to Merlin’s surprise, was the first to bow to Kilgarrah.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you when we’re not fighting and I’m not dying,” he said in a clear voice.

“The same, Arthur Pendragon,” Kilgarrah dipped his head in return, mirth evident in his voice.

“Do we need to bow too?” Gwaine muttered to Merlin.

“Nah. Arthur’s just being uptight.”

“Got it.”

***

By that evening, Aglain had returned from his rounds of mustering help from other druid groups. He too had remembered his previous life, but seemed to have more or less taken it in stride.

“To be honest, I’ve had strange dreams all my life,” Aglain told Merlin that night. “I only just realized that they were of an entirely other life. Quite exciting, actually. Not everyone gets to have that.”

They were standing in the large tent that, apparently, had become the headquarters for the entire operation. Several electric lanterns and bobbing balls of light illuminated the space and the twenty some people who were still arriving for the meeting. Merlin had no idea how people had put themselves into groups and assigned representatives, but they must have managed it somehow. On one end, the tent wall had been completely pulled aside so Kilgarrah could peer into the tent. Everyone gave him a respectful berth. Next to Kilgarrah stood a tall, broad oak dryad and a barely visible air elemental. Neither had readable expressions. Aulfric was also present, he and a handful of other willing faerie folk having arrived less than an hour ago. Merlin doubted he would start any trouble, but Kilgarrah had promised to keep an eye on him in any case.

The tent had an air of solemnity, as the excitement of the day faded away and the reality of their job rose before them.

“So, who exactly is in charge here?” Merlin muttered to Gaius while they watched people greet each other and find good places to stand.

“No one officially speaking,” Gaius replied. “But I as I see it, you’re the only centuries-old warlock here,” Gaius raised an eyebrow.

“Ha bloody ha,” Merlin said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.”

“What about Kilgarrah?” Merlin gestured. “Or Aglain?”

“Both are respected individuals, but again, neither are as deeply tied to Albion as you are.”

“Right. Are people expecting something out of me?”

“If you like,” Gaius said with a wry smile. “I’ll get things started.”

“Would you? You’re a godsend.”

“Mm. Something like that.” Gaius looked over the small crowd and seemed satisfied with what he saw.

“Well then,” he raised his voice and stepped forward. The mutterings immediately died down. “We’d best get started. I thank you all for coming. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Gaius Baker. I’m the head of the Tyne and Wear branch of the Department of Magical Management. I’m delighted to have so many faces gathered here, familiar and unfamiliar, human and non-human.

“We have a lot of discuss tonight. First, perhaps we should all take a moment to introduce ourselves and our affiliations.”

Merlin saw Morgana frown slightly. He understood her trepidation. With the time crunch they were under, he didn’t think that they necessarily had time for a meet and greet.

“No, it’s the right decision,” Arthur muttered when Merlin voiced this in a whisper. “Back in Camelot, these kinds of meetings always had a certain delicacy to them. People want to feel like they have some importance. A voice.”

“Why aren’t you and Gwen leading this thing?” Merlin asked with a small nudge to Arthur’s side. “You’re the ones with all the diplomacy skills.”

“Gaius knows what he’s doing,” Arthur said, though the corner of his mouth flickered up.

When it came Merlin’s turn (far too soon, he had to admit) he found himself confronted with a tent full of unwavering faces.

“Er, I’m Merlin Emerson. I work at the DMM’s Tyne and Wear branch under Gaius,” he said. Several long seconds passed. “I…I guess most of you would know me as Emrys.”

“So it’s true?” a druid asked. She stood nearly a head taller than those around her, and her brown eyes were bright. “Emrys has returned.”

“We will have time to explain soon enough,” Gaius promised. “But yes, this is Emrys.” A low ripple of conversation passed over the crowd. Merlin caught Kilgarrah’s eye, and the dragon had the gall to wink.

“I am Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur said next. “Also from the DMM office, recently transferred from head of the London DMM office. I think I remember some of you from my old job there.”

The group watched him with more curiosity than anything else, though Merlin definitely saw frowns, and a few outright glares.

“ _Fascist pig_ ,” someone suddenly coughed. A few people stirred, but Arthur’s expression remained composed. Merlin wondered if he was just used to it at this point.

When Arthur provided no further words—no, for example, “Oh yes, I’m the reincarnated King Arthur from legend”—Gwen seemed to take it as a cue to speak.

“Gwen Smith. Tyne and Wear DMM office,” she said simply.

“Morgana Pendragon. Tyne and Wear DMM office.”

Next came Mordred, representing his clan.

If anyone was noticing a pattern in the names, they didn’t voice it.

They ended with the nonhumans, Kilgarrah announcing himself in rumbling tones, Aulfric in haughty ones, and then the dryad—“Reeetsu in your tongue”—in a creaking, low voice that sounded neither male nor female. The elemental, it turned out, could not speak human words, but Reeetsu said they could call it Slysl.

“Now that we have that,” Gaius smiled benignly around the tent. “I want to acknowledge that we are missing one important group.” He looked over at Morgana. “We’re still waiting for any reply from the priestesses, is that true?”

“They’re still in council, according to Nimueh,” Morgana agreed. “She’s doing her best to keep them moving along but she can’t promise anything.”

“Then we ought to plan as if they won’t be there,” said a bearded sorcerer with broad shoulders. “That way if they arrive, it will only be a boon.”

“Agreed,” Gaius nodded. “Next item. Our rough estimate is that we have nearly 200 humans here to offer their help. One dragon, ten elementals, nearly thirty spirits of various sources, handfuls of griffins and other such creatures, and several hundred merfolk waiting just off the coast.” He looked around at the attentive faces. “While my first instinct is to be impressed by the force we’ve gathered, I cannot say whether it will be enough.”

“It all will depend on method,” Aglain said. “Just like I told you earlier. All the power in the world will be useless if we don’t have the method down.”

“If we want to discuss method,” the tall woman—Agatha, Merlin thought—“Then we need to understand the exact nature of this rift.”

“Unfortunately, the High Priestesses are the ones who have been studying the rift in the most detail,” Kilgarrah said. “But we still know something of its nature. Here is what _I_ know of it.

“The veins of magic that run through Albion—ley lines, as some of you call them—usually have fast, constant streams. Always shifting and undulating, but present. In this area, there is a serious hitch in that flow. Like a clot, the magic pools and takes too long to flow to where it needs to be. A clot in a minor vein would be unfortunate but not catastrophic. This is a major vein. This is in danger of causing a proverbial stroke.”

“First earthquakes and now strokes,” Merlin heard Gwen mutter to Morgana.

“So there’s a blockage?” Mordred asked.

“A blockage. A rift. A tear. A fault line. All describe the problem to some degree,” Kilgarrah said. “Now, the source of this rift, this crack, seems to lie in ancient times. In the time of Emrys’ beginnings, and the Once and Future King. And I believe that Emrys himself might be able to illuminate that area.” Kilgarrah looked pointedly at the corner where the Merlin, Arthur, Gwen and Morgana were standing. Eyes followed Kilgarrah’s cue, and once again they had several curious faces pointed in their direction. Merlin turned to his right, only to find his so-called friends watching him with expressions of ‘this is your bag.’

“Right,” Merlin muttered. He cleared his throat. “So,” he said aloud and clapped his hands. “Um. As I said earlier. I’m Emrys. Hello everyone. Um. I guess I’ll start from the beginning?” He shot a glance at Gaius and got an encouraging nod in response. “So I was born, oh, a few thousand years ago in a village known as Ealdor. Had magic right from the start, which was unfortunate considering we had people getting executed for that right over the border.” Arthur shifted. “Despite that, I ended up in Camelot and became Prince Arthur’s manservant. Horrible boss, by the way. Made me repolish his armor I don’t know how many times that first week.” Arthur cleared his throat. “But that’s not the important part,” Merlin said, ignoring him. “The point is that I had a job to protect him from all manner of magical assassins, because fate, Albion, what-have-you, wanted him on the throne as the Once and Future King. It also wanted a maidservant, Guinevere, to be his queen. And I can say that it succeeded in that regard. Of course then Arthur got himself killed in the Battle of Camlann about five years after his coronation. Avalon took him in, and promised that he would return in Albion’s time of need. Gwen took over Camelot. I, though…” He bit his lip. “I disappeared. And I pretty much stayed disappeared for the next several centuries. And then around 400 years ago, I wiped my own memories because I’d gotten…tired of the whole thing. Which in retrospect was a bad idea because I wasn’t around when this rift started to get worse. For that I can only apologize. Kilgarrah was the one to help me find my memories again, a few days ago.”

The tent remained deathly still. Despite Merlin’s ramblings, he seemed to have an enraptured audience.

“Maybe because Albion could tell that I wasn’t available, it started bringing people back. Not just the Once and Future King, either. People who had lived back in the days of Camelot returned, with their same bodies and their same names. I think it’s a little desperate for a way to fix whatever’s broken. Maybe it thinks that having all the same players back will…help somehow?”

That broke the stillness pretty neatly. A few people looked downright outraged, and voiced as much.

“If I may,” Aglain raised his arms. Aglain had to be a man of high standing in the magical community, Merlin decided, because people almost immediately quieted down and watched him attentively. “I wish to support Emrys’ claim, however questionable it sounds,” he said. “For I too am one of those souls who has been brought back. I was once a druid leader in the time of King Uther Pendragon. I never met Emrys, but I met the young Morgana Pendragon,” he smiled slightly over at Morgana. “My memories of that life came back to me last night, with the tremor that we all felt. They are vivid and I don’t feel inclined to say that I’m under some curse or that my mind is going.”

He stepped back, and a low murmur followed his words. Aglain glanced at Merlin, and Merlin tried to give an expression that would say ‘thank you.’

A loud _harrumph_ cut through the space.

“I too am from the old days,” Aulfric raised his staff slightly. “I battled Emrys when we, ahem, we had a difference of opinion.”

“He and Sophia were trying to kill you,” Merlin told Arthur in a low voice.

Arthur’s head whipped around.

“Is _that_ what happened?” he hissed. “You told me you’d knocked me out.”

“Um. No. Sophia and Aulfric were Sidhe trying to sacrifice you so they could get back to Avalon. I killed them and saved you from drowning. Sorry, must have forgotten to mention that in all the excitement.” Merlin grinned toothily at Arthur.

“Was this a regular thing?” Arthur asked after a long moment,

“More or less. Just figure that anytime you got knocked out, I was in fact saving your royal ass,” Merlin shrugged. “You’re welcome.” Arthur huffed.

“I advised Emrys in Camelot,” Kilgarrah was saying. Merlin tried hard not to laugh at that one. “And I too will attest to the truth of this.”

“I mean while we’re at it,” Mordred raised his hand. “It turns out that I’m Mordred of the legends. I was a druid and later a knight of Camelot. I uh,” he glanced over at Arthur. “I was the one to kill King Arthur on the fields of Camlann.”

“Morgana Le Fay,” Morgana spoke up. “Witch, High Priestess, half-sister to Arthur, and his eventual betrayer.”

“But his friend these days,” Gwen spoke up. She blinked around at the tent. “Er, and I’m Guinevere. The Once and Future Queen.”

So of course, everyone’s attention slid next to Arthur, who looked overall like he’d rather not be there at all. But the next moment he’d straightened his back and Merlin saw a gleam of the old king there. The calm self-assurance that had made visiting dignitaries want to trust him and enemies wary of him.

“I was King Arthur,” Arthur said in a clear voice. “The Once and Future King.”

A long, ringing silence.

“This is some kind of joke,” a lanky druid with several piercings suddenly said. He spoke in a thick London accent. “You and your father have been making our lives _miserable_ for years. And now you swan about and say you’re the lost king of Camelot?”

“Do you doubt him?” Aglain asked.

“Believe me, I’d love to,” the druid threw up his hands.

“If I might…” Arthur held up one hand. The pierced druid crossed his arm, but didn’t try and argue him. Arthur nodded his head slightly and took a step forward.

“I hope you’ll all believe me when I say that this whole idea of me being…um,” Arthur half laughed. “King Arthur is about as ridiculous sounding to me as it is to you. I’d always thought of my name as my parents having a good sense of humor and not much else. But,” he pulled at his mouth. “Now I have all these memories, that should be alien but feel utterly familiar. I remember pulling Excalibur from its stone.” His eyes flickered over to Merlin. “I remember being crowned king. And I remember how my father ran Camelot. If you haven’t pieced it together yet, head-of-the-DMM Uther Pendragon is former-king-of-Camelot Uther. And he uh. He hasn’t changed much at all, I’m afraid. I feel like a lot is the same this time around. Things sort of falling into similar patterns.

“But in Camelot, he had an ultimatum against magic, due to his own prejudices and personal experiences. People were sentenced to death daily for the crime of practicing magic, whether or not they were guilty.”

Gwen shifted slightly.

“I can see, looking back on that time, that his intolerance did more harm than any single malicious sorcerer could have managed. He— _I_ —killed far, far too many innocents. Children lost parents, husbands lost wives, mothers lost children. And of course that bred hate. Of course we saw a massive rise in assassination attempts, and of course we lost a vital resource when we turned our local hedge witches and magic healers into criminals. It’s…it’s probably obvious from this vantage point, but Uther’s hate for magic bordered on manic, and fear has always been good at warping peoples’ thought process. By the time I was a young man, no one tried to question the laws. Not out loud. We just kept feeding the vicious cycle. I’m afraid that I contributed to it far too readily. I was responsible for Aglain’s death,” he dipped his head briefly in Aglain’s direction. “And even when I knew that Uther’s policies were too harsh, even when I tried to extend amnesty to the druids of that time, I never quite embraced magic’s role in my kingdom, or in my own life.” He looked over at Merlin, and Merlin found he couldn’t decipher the expression there. Something sad, he thought. Then Arthur shifted his gaze and gestured at Gwen. “It took Camelot’s queen, Guinevere, to achieve that peace. I was long gone by then.”

“My point is,” Arthur looked over the small crowd. “Is that I can say with all certainty that Uther’s policies ended in bloodshed and hatred last time. And I’ve become all too aware that it might happen again. We’ve already had infrastructure damage from druid rebel groups; next time people might die. Protests might become bloody. The military might get involved. I won’t let that happen again. _Can’t_ let it happen again. After all this rift business is over, I swear to all of you, to everyone gathered in this field, you will see better treatment from your government. It’s only what we owe you.”

Merlin stared. He was pretty sure everyone else was staring too, but he didn’t bother to look. Because Arthur almost seemed to glow from some source inside him, and it filled the tent with a pale, dawn-like light that Merlin had to feel more than see. It seeped into his chest and dove into his bones and left him feeling just shy of euphoric.

It reminded him of the time Arthur had spoken to the druid child ghost that had inhabited Elyan. The same sense that the earth was listening, taking note, responding in kind.

Maybe it was, Merlin suddenly thought, as Arthur faced the tent with a high head and damp eyes.

Maybe this was why Albion had brought Arthur back. To address the bloodshed of Uther and Arthur’s reign. Why it had brought _everyone_ back, allies and enemies alike. Perhaps—and here Merlin felt a starburst inside his chest—maybe Albion wanted to give everyone a second chance. Maybe it hoped that this time around, better decisions would be made. Maybe _that_ would help fix the rift created so long ago by the slaughter of thousands. And while Uther might have failed in his second chance, Arthur didn’t have to. He _wouldn’t_.

“Anyway,” Arthur broke the spell with a quiet word. “Thank you.”

He took a step back into his place, and Merlin finally managed to tear his eyes away and look around the tent. People were blinking slowly, like they’d all been caught dozing in a warm, syrupy morning after a chilly night. The golden tone from Arthur’s speech lingered like the resonating notes of a struck bell.

It gave Merlin hope.

For the first time in a long time, he felt real, tangible hope.


	17. Chapter 17

Merlin could barely concentrate as the meeting progressed. He didn’t want to blurt out his half-baked notion, but he also felt somewhere in his gut that he was on the right track. He could almost feel Albion humming in agreement with him.

“I like Olivia’s idea of having someone acting as the focal point,” a witch from Leeds was saying. “We can give them the pure energy, and they can do the actual fine tuning.”

“Yes, yes, but we still haven’t addressed whether it should be one person,” the bearded, broad-shouldered sorcerer asked—Merlin thought his name might be Alfred. “Or a group of them. And _what_ exactly will they be doing? You can’t just toss a lot of magic at this kind of thing and hope it will work.”

“I am inclined to think that Albion will guide them,” the dryad Reeetsu said. “She knows what she needs.”

“Perhaps it would be better to look at the situation beforehand though,” Alfred gestured.

“Why?”

“Well, it might need a healer’s touch, or perhaps it’s more like mending tools. Those are different kinds of magic.”

“It is all the same magic,” Reeetsu rustled like a sharp wind through brittle leaves “Typical human, can’t stop parsing and dissecting and trusting its own little head more than the earth.”

“I’m only _saying_ ,” Alfred threw back his shoulders.

“I think that Reeetsu has a point.”

Merlin swallowed and looked around the tent. He hadn’t meant to speak, not quite, but something had nudged the words from him. He opened his mouth again.

“Albion was the one to bring Arthur and Gwen and everyone back,” he said. “And it was the one to gather us here, ultimately. It’s already gotten us this far. It can get us to the end.”

Something brushed at the back of his mind. Something alien and vast and ultimately familiar.

“Then do you agree with Olivia’s plan to have a focusing point?” Gaius asked.

“I do,” Merlin nodded once.

“Well,” a young woman with hair trailing to the floor said. “It’s a start.”

“Emrys,” said the tall woman who had spoken when Merlin first introduced himself. “Do you think you ought to be that focus?”

“I…” Merlin faltered. He was sure that logically speaking it made sense. Like Gaius had said, he was the only centuries-old sorcerer here. Didn’t make him any less wary.

“I believe that choice is obvious,” Kilgarrah rumbled. Of course. A low susurrus of agreement rose from the crowd.

“Well then,” Gaius scribbled something on his legal notepad. “All in favor say aye?”

A chorus of ayes.

“No?”

Silence.

“That’s settled,” Gaius glanced over at Merlin, his eyes bright. “Then the next issue is how exactly we will be transferring our energy to Emrys. Brainstorms?”

Merlin exhaled hard as Aulfric jumped in with something about an old faerie method.

Then, he felt something warm nudge at his arm. He glanced over and found Arthur watching him, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Merlin felt the corners of his mouth lift in response.

***

“God,” Gwen nearly gasped as they all filed from the tent somewhere in the neighborhood of two in the morning. Several balls of light bobbing above their heads lit their way. Though the light didn’t help them avoid the dew-laden tall grasses and subsequent wet pants.

“I’d forgotten how long these things drag on,” Gwen continued.

“You know what, though,” Arthur said dully. “At least it wasn’t a meeting with Camelot’s guild leaders.”

“Oh,” Gwen appeared to spasm. “No, you’re right. At least it wasn’t that.”

“I found this meeting to be one of the most productive I’ve seen in either of my lifetimes, actually,” Gaius waved his legal notepad, covered in dense thickets of his looping handwriting. “A concrete plan already. Can’t always boast that.”

“True,” Morgana mused. “Wasn’t even much arguing. Relatively speaking. For a load of magic users.”

“Merlin?” asked a low voice.

Merlin lifted his head to find Mordred watching him with his eyebrows drawn.

“Feeling alright?”

“As alright as I can,” Merlin shrugged. Mordred nodded, then awkwardly fell back several steps. Merlin half wanted to follow Mordred and get into a long talk about everything. Their last few months at Camelot, and magic, and Morgana.

But Merlin was also about to collapse from exhaustion, and Mordred already looked cagey. It would have to wait until later. Maybe after everything had calmed down.

Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that he’d be having a lot of lengthy conversations with several people when this was all over.

It prompted another wave of tiredness, so that when Merlin crawled into his sleeping bag, he barely heard Arthur murmur “G’night” before he passed out.

***

Merlin didn’t sleep well that night.

He could probably have chalked it up to nerves, but nerves didn’t account for a sleep punctuated by dim screams and a bone-deep landslide of a voice that was saying _something_ just nothing Merlin understood and—

Merlin peeled his eyes open and first became aware of how cold his nose felt. It was the only thing exposed to the winter morning air. He then found the orange sunlight cutting through the little window his and Arthur’s tent had. He took a moment to appreciate the way it lit up the old nylon. Then he turned to his side and found Arthur’s face, still slack with sleep and just barely peeping from his pile of sleeping bag, coats, and extra blankets. He wore a slight frown and had curled toward Merlin sometime during the night. His arms looked like they were crossed tightly across his chest.

Arthur had always slept differently when on hunting trips or military campaigns. In his feather bed in Camelot, he sprawled. On leaf litter and around a campfire, Arthur’s posture was always tighter, more guarded. Which made sense and everything.

It was just odd to see that sleeping posture again, after all these years. Even in a modern sleeping bag, in a waterproof tent, Arthur looked like he was ready to take on the next gang of bandits that decided to attack them. Merlin half expected to see Excalibur’s hilt sticking out of the sleeping bag.

Merlin sighed quietly against his pillow and looked for other signs of the Arthur he remembered. A certain way he quirked his jaw. Or that whistling snore he produced sometimes. Or—

“Merlin. What are you doing?”

Or saying something like that. In that exact tone of voice. With one eye squinted open and his hair all mussed.

Merlin nearly beamed. But he didn’t because he knew from experience that it would make Arthur say things like “You’re an insufferable morning person, you know that Merlin?” or “I’m so glad that you get that much joy out of my discomfort, _Mer_ lin I really am.”

Then again, it might be worth it.

Merlin settled for a light smirk and a, “Enjoying the brisk morning air, sire. Really wakes a man up, doesn’t it?”

“Lord,” Arthur flipped over onto his belly and buried his face into his pillow.

“Want me to get the fire going, sire?” Merlin asked. “I have cured meats and flatbreads for breakfast, sire.”

“ _Stop_.”

“Or you might send me to the stream to catch a fish or two, sire,” Merlin quipped along, thoroughly enjoying himself. “What’s the matter, sire? You’ve never seemed too shy about sending me on such errands before, sire.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Arthur half laughed, and reached out to snatch the woolen hat Merlin had popped on last night to keep his ears from freezing off.

“Hey!” Merlin snatched at it. “I need to conserve my body heat.”

“You’re gabbing enough to keep yourself warm,” Arthur quickly withdrew his arms back into his sleeping bag with a small shudder, taking the hat with him.

“Bully,” Merlin stuck out his tongue. “Just like last time.”

“I was not a _bully_ ,” Arthur protested.

“You absolutely were.”

“I was a king giving orders to his faithful manservant, that’s hardly bullying.”

“You never gave me days off.”

“You made fun of my weight. If anything, _you_ were the bully.”

“You already had people fawning over you every time you so much as took a dump,” Merlin rolled his eyes. “You needed someone to be brutally honest.”

Arthur didn’t answer immediately.

Then he shifted his head to look at Merlin more directly.

“Yeah,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “That’s true.”

Merlin watched Arthur across the valleys and hills of their bedding. He wondered, suddenly, what would happen if he reached across the space separating them and did…something. Brush down Arthur’s hair or trace his eyebrow with a thumb. Arthur would probably jerk back and laugh and make some snide comment.

But there was a chance, however small, that he would allow it. And not just allow it, but appreciate it.

He’d appreciated it the day he’d died.

“Well,” Merlin sat up and automatically shivered. “Lots to get done today.”

Arthur remained where he was and watched through hooded eyes as Merlin rubbed his hands together.

“Can’t you just magic up some heat?” he asked suddenly.

Merlin paused.

“Well,” he looked down at his mittened hands. “I mean. Yes. I suppose.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What’re you waiting for?”

“I don’t…” Merlin shrugged like none of it mattered anyway, then whispered a few words of magic. Almost immediately a delicious heat started in his hands and seeped through his body.

“Here,” Merlin peeled off his mittens and held his hands out to Arthur. Arthur grunted to a sit—and bit stiff in all his layers—and first replaced the hat on Merlin’s heat, tugging it over his ears with a muttered, “Ridiculous things stick so far out, going to lose them to frostbite one of these days.”

Then without any sign of hesitation, Arthur placed his hands into Merlin’s. Merlin nearly started at the contact.

It had literally been centuries. And now this.

Now Arthur so close Merlin could hear his breath whistle through clogged sinuses, every shift of fabric when he moved, the way the light picked out his hair and eyelashes. His hands, softer in this life but still steady and capable. Merlin’s thumbs smoothed at Arthur’s knuckles, just barely, before he muttered the words of magic again. The heat jumped across their skins and Arthur released a small sigh.

Merlin thought of Arthur standing in an imperceptible glow. In front of a sword in a stone. In a tent full of wary magic users.

“That’s useful,” Arthur lifted his eyes. “Why were you holding out before?”

“Habit,” Merlin shrugged. “Not always a good thing for people to know you have magic.”

Arthur hummed and watched their hands. He didn’t seem at all ready to pull away, and Merlin had to wonder whether Arthur planned this, to some capacity.

In the end, Merlin decided not to question it. He was about to have a trying day, and he decided he was allowed to sit in his tent and hold onto Arthur for a few minutes.

*** 

“No word from Nimueh?” was the first thing out of Merlin’s mouth when he found Morgana an hour later.

“Good morning,” Morgana mumbled, and squinted puffily up at Merlin. She sat hunched beneath a thick wool blanket. “No word. Gaius says we’re going to have to go without them.”

“Hm,” Merlin shifted his weight from leg to leg.

“Stop that. Sit.” Morgana scooted along the log she’d procured as a chair sometimes yesterday. Merlin settled in beside her with a long sigh. They had to squeeze together to fit on the log, but Merlin didn’t think either of them minded. He held his hands out automatically to the crackling fire and listened to others in the camp gathering water and cooking breakfasts. A goat bleated somewhere in the near distance.

“Looks like it’s going to be overcast all day,” Morgana said as she tipped her face up to the sky. “It might come to snow.”

“Might,” Merlin tucked his hands between his thighs. Morgana tilted her head toward him.

“Nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous?” Merlin barked a laugh.

Morgana rubbed at her nose and tightened the blanket around her shoulders.

“We could ask Gaius about using more than one person as the focus,” she suggested.

“We discussed that to death last night already,” Merlin puttered his lips. “We’re better off sticking to what’s already decided.”

His own words did nothing to assuage the way his stomach knotted and heaved and overall threatened to return him his breakfast. With a low groan, he tipped his head to let it rest on Morgana’s shoulder.

He felt her stiffen beneath her for an instant before she relaxed and pressed her cheek against the top of his head.

“Remember when we helped to save Ealdor? You, me, Gwen, and Arthur?” she asked.

“Good times,” Merlin said.

A beat of silence.

“Any reason you’re bringing that up?” Merlin asked.

“Not specifically. I guess I’m just glad we’re back to that point.”

Merlin lifted his head and studied the side of Morgana’s face. She side-eyed him, like she expected him to dispute what she’d just said.

“We were a pretty good team,” he said.

Morgana finally looked at him in full.

“I thought so,” she said.

“Think we could pull it off again?”

“Might be hard,” Morgana lifted an eyebrow. “We’re not fighting any brigands here. We’re not fighting _anything,_ really.”

 _That’s sort of the point_ , Merlin found himself thinking.

“I don’t know, I just—” Morgana cut off suddenly, her face turning several shades paler and her mouth left open, like someone gasping for air. Merlin didn’t lean forward and grab at her hands, because he felt it too. A sharp, tight pain in his mind that left him reeling. A rumbling sense of presence, a keening cry, a tsunami of loss, pain, shame, anger, pounding, pounding, pounding.

“MERLIN!”

Something stung Merlin’s cheek.

He gaped up to find a blurry afterimage of a face. A second later, it coalesced into Gwaine’s.

“Jesus,” Gwaine breathed. He tugged down the scarf obscuring his mouth and readjusted his grip on Merlin. “You’re eyes are a bit gold there, mate.”

“Ughm,” Merlin dribbled. Then a second later, “M’gana!”

He craned his head to try to find her, but did a better job of jerking his neck around and pulling a muscle.

“Hey hey hey.” Gwaine kept Merlin’s head still with one hand on his cheek. “Leon’s got her. She’s fine. Well,” Gwaine’s eyes darted up. “Not _fine_ fine but…hey, Merlin, just relax for a minute mate, alright? No one’s dying, no one’s trying to kill Arthur, we’re all okay.”

That could hardly be true, Merlin thought, because anyone with magic would be feeling that sharp, sad howl in their very blood. Even those without magic would sense something uneasy and ill in the air. But he also doubted he could so much as summon a flame, much less wrestle himself from Gwaine. So Merlin let his head loll against Gwaine’s upper arm, closed his eyes, and waited for the swelling nausea to pass.

“He okay?” a voice asked a few minutes later.

“Think so,” Gwaine’s voice rumbled.

“This’s worse than last time,” Merlin mumbled. “Last time I c’ld at least stand.” He frowned and peeled his eyes open. “Is the whole camp…?”

“No one’s feeling too chipper,” Lance crouched by Merlin and patted his chest. “But none of them look like they’re passed out either.”

“Oh,” Merlin made a move to sit. “Lucky me.”

“Wait a—”

“We need to start,” Merlin mumbled. “This’s bad.”

Gwaine and Lance helped him to a proper sit, and that was when Merlin found Morgana sitting cross-legged on the ground, blanket mostly slipped from her shoulders and back, knees propped on her thighs, face buried in her hands. Leon was methodically rubbing at her back. He looked up and caught Merlin’s eye. He blinked, then frowned.

“Are my eyes still lit up?” Merlin asked him dully.

“Like a Christmas tree,” Leon admitted.

“They’re very fetching,” Gwaine said.

“Mm,” Merlin’s lips quirked, and he maneuvered himself so he could knee-walk over to Morgana. He could feel Leon, Gwaine, and Lance watching as he reached out and wrapped his hands around Morgana’s wrists. He heard her muttering something, a low litany that seemed to mostly consist of “no”s and “god”s.

“Morgana?” Merlin asked. Morgana inhaled suddenly, and her muttering’s cut off. “Morgana,” Merlin ducked his head to try and find her face. “Tell me what you see.”

Morgana waited to speak.

“A woman,” she finally said. “She’s on the ground.”

“Okay.”

“She’s pulling at her hair,” Morgana continued. Her voice sounded thin. “I think she’s crying. I think something’s broken or…or dying. Dead?” Morgana peeled her face from her hands and looked up. She twisted her wrists so that her hands gripped at Merlin’s. Like Arthur’s had been. “I think it’s what happens if we fail,” she said. Her face was vivid white where it wasn’t streaked angry red.

“Alright,” Merlin exhaled. He tightened his grip on Morgana. “Listen. I’m going to say some words to you and you’re going to repeat them.”

“What words?” Morgana asked in a thin voice.

“Sort of a meditation,” Merlin promised. “A very light magic. Learned them from a sorcerer in Portugal.”

Morgana winced suddenly, but then nodded her head slightly. Merlin began speaking.

Merlin thought that he heard peoples’ voices, people that he knew and recognized. But his focus remained on Morgana’s face and the words that he passed to her, each one like a flower added to a bouquet. He knew it was working when Morgana’s shoulders left her ears, and her neck arched forward rather than remained hunched.

When they’d finished, he lifted his head and found Gwen and Arthur along with Leon, Gwaine and Lance. Gwen had Arthur’s hand in a death grip.

“It’s okay.”

Merlin glanced over to find Morgana watching them too. She was still pale, but less so. “It’s okay,” she repeated.

Arthur charged forward, face peaked, and Gwen matched him step for step. They descended on Merlin and Morgana like the sudden heat of a fire. A warm hand in the dark. A spring breeze at the tail end of winter.

Merlin could feel Morgana’s skin beneath his own, Gwen’s arm across his shoulders, Arthur’s forehead against his temple.

He closed his eyes and he breathed.

***

To say that the tremor had caused a stir in the camp would be a gross understatement.

While, as Lance said, no one quite had Merlin’s reaction, it hadn’t made the severe headaches or nausea or visions or overarching sense of doom any less unnerving.

“We need to start this as soon as we can. Now,” Kilgarrah insisted a good two hours after the event.

“Give him a breather,” Gwaine snapped. “He still looks about ready to pass out!”

“He has a duty,” Kilgarrah growled. “One that he abandoned—“

“Peace,” Aglain stamped his staff into the ground. “We are all frightened, and frightened minds never do much good. We will start soon, Kilgarrah, but not until Emrys feels ready for it.”

Kilgarrah sent a plume of smoke from his nostrils, but didn’t retaliate. Gwaine rolled his shoulders.

“Apart from that,” Aglain continued reasonably. “We are hardly ready to begin. It takes some doing to coordinate a crowd this size.”

“True,” Kilgarrah seemed to think for a moment, then expanded his wings. “I’ll go see whether the merfolk need anything of us.”

“An excellent idea,” Aglain sent a sparkling glance over at Merlin as Kilgarrah buffeted the air and rose above the tree line.

“Speaking of which, I need to make sure group eight is figuring themselves out,” Aglain mused aloud. “You don’t mind if I leave you three boys here by yourselves?”

“We can manage,” Percival promised.

“Good, good. You take your time, Merlin,” Aglain patted Merlin’s shoulder as he passed.

“I’m not made of glass,” Merlin groused as Aglain disappeared down the hill.

“Well, you’re pretty important for this operation to work, aren’t you?” Percival tugged at his scarf. “I’m sorry, but you looked pretty miserable earlier.”

“I’m fine _now_ ,” Merlin protested. Which was not one hundred percent true; he could still feel the rift like an open wound.

“Regardless,” Gwaine said. “I haven’t heard anyone thank me for standing up to the two-ton, fire-breathing dragon.”

“Thanks, Gwaine,” Merlin said dutifully.

“Dragons always thinks they’re in charge of everything,” Gwaine continued solemnly, as if he regularly worked with dragons and knew their many ways. Merlin snorted, and Gwaine flashed him a grin.

The three of them fell silent and watched from their vantage point as a few hundred magical beings—humans and otherwise—organized themselves into a massive web that splayed across a meadow, a creek, and several stands of trees. The camping field sat a fifteen-minute walk to their west, and the sea a thirty-minute stroll to their east. Merlin thought he could almost sense the merfolks’ presence; something sleek and silvery in the corner of his awareness.

Merlin had to hope to god that the property was as abandoned as Gwen claimed it to be. If any locals found them, there’d be some awkward questions to answer.

“It wouldn’t really be a big deal though,” Gwen had pointed out earlier. “They’d try to report it to the DMM and, surprise, we’re already out here.”

“How’s this supposed to work?” Percival asked suddenly.

“Well, they’ve split people into groups,” Merlin answered, gesturing. “It’s like a load of tributaries feeding into bigger and bigger systems. They’ll have about eight to ten people feeding their magical energy into one person, who’ll sort of package it and feed it into someone else. And so on, with smaller and smaller numbers until about eight people will be giving me what they’ve gathered from everyone else.”

Gwaine whistled.

“Sounds dangerous,” he said.

“It sort of is.”

“Are you going to be able to handle all of that? You won’t short circuit?” Gwaine peered at Merlin. His face was dead serious and, moreover, deeply curious.

“He’s supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer of all time,” Percival quipped, probably hoping to keep things light.

“It might end badly,” Merlin agreed, keeping his eyes on Gwaine. “I don’t really know. This isn’t anything we’ve tried before. Might not even be the right method and…” He rubbed one hand over his face.

“Sorry I asked,” Gwaine said after an awkward moment.

“You ought to be asking,” Merlin shrugged.

Someone in the distance shouted something, and Merlin, Gwaine, and Percival fell silent to listen. But it must have been nothing, because they heard nothing else save the wind rustling grasses and the susurrus of people talking.

“You know what this reminds me of,” Percival crossed his arms and hunched against a sudden nippy breeze. “Battles in the old days. Everyone’s tense, crabby and waiting for bad things to happen.”

“Except no one should die a horrible, bloody death,” Gwaine rubbed at his chin. “So that makes things easier.”

“Eh,” Merlin scrunched his face. “Enough people are getting some pretty dire visions of what might happen if we don’t succeed here.”

“Well never mind then,” Gwaine threw back his head exaggeratedly. “Death is back on the table.”

Merlin grinned against the inside of his scarf.

“I have faith,” Percival announced.

“I never said I didn’t have faith,” Gwaine protested. “I’m just saying that death at the end of all this is a possibility.” He thought a moment. “Though it’s not as if me or Perce or Arthur or the rest can do much about it, which will be frustrating. We’ll just have to sit around and watch.”

“Like we’re doing now?” Percival asked.

“Hey,” Merlin pointed. “I’m not stopping you from heading down there to help.”

“Eh, Arthur and Gwen and Leon and all them can wrangle magic users,” Gwaine tugged his hood back into place. “I’d rather hang out with you two.”

“Gwaine, I never knew you cared,” Percival grinned. Merlin laughed outright, because it had been too long since he’d listened to knights banter words back and forth. If they could fix this rift, if they could keep going with their lives, he’d get to hear more of it.

He decided to concentrate on that.

***

When Aglain found them again and said, “Well, I’d have to say that we’re about as ready we we’re going to be,” Merlin’s had a wild notion to ask whether anyone else might be willing to become the focal point for this endeavor. Not that he would _actually_ ask, but the urge definitely presented itself.

Over the next half hour, the eight individuals who would be feeding Merlin the magical energy arrived. Merlin named him in his head as they got themselves positioned, like a mantra.

Aglain. Samata. Kilgarrah. Olivia. Reetsu. Alfred. Fatimah. Mordred.

Some friends, some still more or less strangers. They all had expressions of concentration; none bothered with small talk. Merlin almost wished they would.

“Hey.” Merlin turned and found Gwen. She looked a little out of breath, as if she’d jogged here.

“Hi,” Merlin said. Gwen tilted her head, then held out her arms, and Merlin stepped into the hug. She was always good at things like that, whether Merlin had just come in from a session of Arthur’s sword practice or slogging through indecipherable reports.

“How’s it look out there?” Merlin spoke into Gwen’s hair.

“Tense,” Gwen tilted her head up to see Merlin. “But hopeful. News that you and Arthur have returned has been spreading. You wouldn’t believe how excited people are.”

“Excited?” Merlin pulled away a little.

“You’re _Emrys_ ,” Gwen gave him a look. “Of course they’re excited.”

“Oh.”

He must have looked dour, because Gwen’s expression softened and she wrapped her arms more firmly around Merlin. He exhaled slowly and let them stand like that, rocking ever so slightly.

“’m scared,” he confessed in a bare whisper.

“That’s fine,” Gwen rubbed a hand across his back. “More than fine. I’d be more worried if you weren’t scared.”

“You’d think that living for centuries would make me all wise and powerful,” Merlin continued. “But I still feel…I don’t know. Utterly human.”

“I think that’s the point, actually,” Gwen told him. “Albion couldn’t give that much power to someone who’d misuse it or get a big head from it, right?” She pulled back again, tilted her head, and one side of her mouth curved into a smile. “I think Albion knew what it was doing when it gave us all our roles.”

Merlin searched Gwen’s face. “You,” he said after a beat. “Are remarkably good at saying the right thing. Did you know that?”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Gwen pressed a kiss to his cheek, then stepped away and straightened her coat.

“What will you all be doing?” Merlin asked. “All the people without magic?”

“This and that,” Gwen waved a hand. “Keeping a lookout for the locals, making sure everyone has what they need. We’re your support crew.”

“Good,” Merlin thrust his hands into his coat pocket. “That’s good.”

“Merlin?” Gwen and Merlin looked up to find Arthur and Morgana trudging toward them, heads ducked against a stiff wind.

“Just wanted to say good luck,” Morgana said when they neared. “Won’t be seeing much of me, I’m in the back with the other magical lightweights.”

“You stop,” Arthur bumped Morgana with his shoulder. “Mordred said that you have tons of untapped power. It’s just a matter of finding it.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Merlin promised her. “It’s not supposed to be hard, you know. Magic flows.”

“Right,” Morgana nodded once, then bit her lip and stepped forward to give Merlin a tight, quick hug. Arthur did the same.

“Well,” Merlin looked around at the three familiar faces. “Hopefully this goes without a hitch. But if it doesn’t—”

“Merlin—.” Arthur started.

“If it doesn’t,” Merlin said more forcefully, meeting Arthur’s eye. “I’m…really, really glad we all found one other again. I don’t think I can express how glad I am.”

There were a lot of tightened lips and lowered brows, and Arthur looked about ready to argue, though against what Merlin couldn’t imagine.

“Merlin.” Gaius stood just behind him, white hair flying in the wind. “We’re ready when you are.”

Merlin nodded once. He glanced back at Gwen, Morgana and Arthur, tried to smile, then followed Gaius to the center of the clearing, where the other magic users were standing in formation.

“Do you remember when you defeated Nimueh?” Gaius asked in a low voice.

“Yeah,” Merlin said slowly.

“When I realized what you had done,” Gaius told him. “I knew you’d come to do great things. I like to think I was right.”

“Thanks Gaius,” Merlin said.

“It was extremely foolhardy of you, of course, challenging a High Priestess at that age,” Gaius continued. “Downright stupid, one might say.”

“Right.”

“But that seems to be your way. Making questionable decisions and figuring it out in the end.”

“Is this meant to make me feel better or something?” Merlin asked.

“Only that even if you make a terrible mistake,” Gaius slowed. “You have an excellent track record of making it alright in the end.”

They came to a complete stop, and Merlin considered this.

“I guess that’s a good way to look at it,” he decided after a moment.

Gaius’s face folded into a fond smile.

“Ah, my boy,” he placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I’d never have imagined we’d find ourselves here. I believe I am now technically younger than you, but I hope that I can still consider you a son of sorts.”

“Always that,” Merlin nodded, and then he and Gaius were hugging too. And maybe Merlin held on a few seconds longer than he should have, because maybe Gaius, after all these years, still gave him a sense of protection.

But eventually he had to step away from his old mentor, and turn around, and walk into the circle of eight. They watched him like he was about to perform some great miracle. Which, in a sense, he was.

Merlin took a breath, then looked around at them.

“Best get started,” he said. Aglain nodded, then whispered words of magic into his cupped hands.

The static of walkie-talkies (magically enhanced) cut through the dry air, as the non-magical people began relaying messages to other groups.

“Who on earth made me codename Once King?” Merlin heard Arthur ask.

“We all voted on it,” Leon’s reply crackled over the walkie-talkie.

Then Merlin had to cut them off, because he needed to concentrate. It would take some time for the magical energy to filter to him, so he took the opportunity to crouch down and place his hand flat on the ground, on dead grass and hard earth.

The rift extended across the whole of Belford like an ugly cut or, like Kilgarrah had explained it, a massive clot. Merlin could sense it running beneath him, through him, over him. He’d have to wait to look at it up close.

Merlin reached out to Albion and felt a small _snick_ of connection.

“Groups 4 and 5 are started,” someone, maybe Elyan, said from the walkie-talkies.

Merlin closed his eyes.

“Groups 1 and 3.”

“Group 2 ready.”

Merlin sank deeper into his sense of Albion, feeling at the rift, trying to find a source.

“Group 7.”

It was so big, was the problem.

“Merlin?” That was Aglain. “Two minutes.”

Merlin nodded.

He must have been losing track of time, because in what felt like the next second, he heard “One minute.” He couldn’t decipher who said it.

Then “Thirty seconds.”

“Go.”

Merlin had imagined that getting bolstered with a few hundred peoples’ worth of magical energy would be like getting smacked with a sledgehammer.

And true, it wasn’t gentle or gradual. It felt like a sudden breath of air after holding it for too long. Like a meal after not eating all day. It left Merlin feeling heady and dazed.

It felt _wonderful_.

Merlin knew that his physical body was still in a cold field near Belford. He knew it in a casual way, the way one knows that the universe is massive or that the earth has been around for a long time. It was nothing immediate, nothing he had to confront in the here and now.

Instead, he picked out the energies of the creatures around him. The grasses and the insects, the soil with its millions of tiny lives, the trees, the humans, the dragon, the merfolk, the griffins and the dryads. They were sparks in his mind’s eye, flashes of color and emotion.

Beneath them Merlin found the earth itself. He found the bedrock placed there millions of years ago. He found whispers of ancient mountain ranges that had risen and fallen before life existed. Deep oceans and delving canyons. Spurts of magma and the rumbling of shifting slabs of crust. Beneath all that, the slow, steady movement of fire and hot rock.

All of Albion, surrounding him like a womb.

Seeped into all of it, magic. Thicker, deeper magic in the rocks, flightier stuff within the living creatures, but all the same energy. All the same driving force. Like blood.

Merlin remembered from the past that whenever he sank himself into Albion’s magic, it always made him think of a stream. Something swift and smooth and always moving.

Only here, the energy had stagnated. He could sense the magic churning and stuttering around him, hot and fevered. He could almost see the place where the magic’s flow was interrupted, a gap it could not jump, a kink that left the flow confused and angry.

Merlin waded toward that place and tried to keep his senses open to Albion. It had a way of nudging at Merlin’s attention, guiding him in the right direction.

By the time Merlin reached the rift, he couldn’t even have guessed if he stood anywhere physical. He could be beneath meters of rock or high above the earth for all he knew; ley lines didn’t follow the physical topography.

The rift did not look immediately impressive or obvious. A wound didn’t have to be large to cause damage. Only deep enough or in the right place.

Merlin approached it with caution, then halted when he found himself on its edge. He peered into it and nearly stumbled back.

This was deep.

It was so, so deep that Merlin imagined it could swallow him up. Swallow up all of the isle and not show any difference. Which, Merlin supposed, was exactly what made it so dangerous.

If he’d had a physical hand, he’d have placed it on the edge of the rift. As it was, he touched it with the edge of his consciousness. It throbbed hot. Merlin explored further, and found acres of ragged edges and deformed angles. Swollen areas and areas that had wasted away.

Like an infected wound, Merlin decided. One that had started a long time ago and only gotten worse.

_You struck the first blow._

The thought did not come from anywhere obvious. It felt more like someone had left it behind for Merlin to find.

 _How?_ He asked nevertheless.

The magic around him churned harder.

If Merlin had been able to, he would have gasped when the memories smacked into him.

They sped past him in a blur, almost impossible to decipher. Still Merlin found his battle with Nimueh, slaying countless magical creatures, killing those who had been trying to kill Arthur, poisoning Morgana, killing Morgana, death after death, blood pouring from the memories and soaking into the earth.

 _You struck grievous blows to the Triple Goddess, my eldest child,_ the thought came to him gently. _Your love for the Once and Future King clouded your judgment. You grew too used to slaying in his name._

 _That was my job,_ Merlin protested. _They attacked first. The Old Religion wanted him dead!_

 _The people of the Old Religion too had their poor judgment,_ came the reply. _The Old King had his faults. Even the Once and Future King and Queen. Your collective animosity sowed thorns in my soil and they have persisted._

Merlin stared at the rift.

_So this…_

_This started when magic turned on magic. When those without its power slew those with it and vice versa. When forgiveness never came and grudges never lifted._

_What about the thousands of years since then?_ Merlin insisted. _What happened then?_

_Waves of the same. Some eras worse than others. The last century has been a harsh one and it has reopened old wounds._

A pause.

_I called for you, Emrys, my youngest child. You never replied._

_I told you. It hurt. I left._

_Yes,_ came a musing reply. _Yes, you’re still human, aren’t you? I forget that._

Merlin stood on the edge of the rift and watched it seethe. He had a heavy weight somewhere in the center of him.

 _How do I fix it?_ he asked.

_I am not so different from a living body, Emrys. Stitch it together. You already know the methods._

_It’s so big though._

_You have more than your own strength and willpower. This gathering is a help. It has brought together those who were enemies; it seeps forgiveness and mercy. I can feel it in the magic you bring with you._

_But is it enough?_

_We have to hope so._ A pause. _I will not leave you to tackle this alone, Emrys._

Merlin felt a brush against his mind. The same vastness he remembered from earlier. He shuddered, though it didn’t hurt him. It made everything inside him hum like a tuning fork.

He could still feel the magical energy pouring into him, and the reminder bolstered him.

He thought for a moment, then started by extending a single ribbon of energy through and across the rift. Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, he saw a scene: a man striking a woman in the head. She fell with a dull groan, and Merlin saw how the blood seeped from her scalp.

“Witch,” the man spat.

The scene dissolved away, but it left a rusty stain on Merlin’s mind.

He concentrated on his thread of magic with renewed vigor and reminded himself how he’d mend a broken bone or rebuild veins. A gentle tug, a will for things to grow, and soon enough Merlin felt things reconnect that had once been separated. The magic found the path, slim as it was, and trickled across. Something inside Merlin lifted.

 _Good,_ the thought bumped into him gently. _That is very good._

Merlin worked swiftly. Scenes raced through Merlin as he stitched the freshest wounds, the ones still bleeding magic. Shattering glass. Angry songs. A fist slamming into a table. Scuffles in dark alleyways. Guns going off in the middle of the night. Ugly words and harsh voices.

As a counter to all that, the magic pouring into Merlin had threads of sunshine and the soft velvet of a kind night in it. Merlin could taste traces of nervousness, distrust, fear in the energy, but mostly it made him think of hopeful things like buds and hands gripped in friendship. It did not slow, but kept up a steady, strong flow.

The harder part came when he moved deeper into the rift, to the places where magic had long ago clotted, where things had become infected and bones had been set the wrong way. The scenes became something like nightmares, and a few times Merlin thought he saw himself.

This work was more detailed and perilous, and Merlin lost himself in the motions. He strayed deeper and deeper into the wound, pulling more and more from the energy that ran to him like a lifeline.

Then, without warning, Merlin touched on a knotted, old scar, and he stuttered to a stop.

He gaped up at a scene that throbbed around him. Something dark and hot, like the mouth of a giant creature. Like the mugginess and ozone of a rainstorm.

He saw a woman standing next to an altar. She looked pale and predatory, and for a split second, Merlin thought that the Nimueh of the present had found her way here. Only no, there stood a young man—a boy really—all lanky nerves and powers he didn’t quite understand yet. And almost unseen, an echo of Gaius lay on the ground. A memory, then. An unfortunate one.

Merlin watched the echo of Nimueh as she died, snatched away by ancient rules of her religion. Something convulsed in the earth.

Startled into action, Merlin waded through the memory, but he couldn’t seem to find any exits. The rain soaked at his skin.

_I can’t…_

He watched himself and Nimueh battle again. She died. The convulsion felt worse this time.

 _I’m not…,_ Merlin battered against the walls of the memory, the tight, twisted walls unyielding to his efforts. He realized with a sudden panic that the lifeline of magic was growing stilted and thin, and he grabbed at it with a clumsy grip.

 _They cannot find you,_ the words came urgently if faintly. _Emrys, you are blocked._

Merlin released a hollow shout when the lifeline ripped apart entirely. He hurled himself against the walls of the memory again, and this time he didn’t remember the time between impact and blinking himself awake.

A flash of lightening. A smell of burning meat. Another convulsion.

 _Hello_? Merlin tried.

No reply.

_Albion?_

Merlin waited.

At some point he lost track of how many times the memory of Nimueh’s death played out around him.

At some point he slipped to the damp ground and stayed there.


	18. Chapter 18

Arthur was _not_ a nervous wreck.

“I have seen you under all manner of stressful situations,” Leon told him. “And this is all the hallmarks of a nervous wreck.”

“Really not the time,” Arthur snapped.

“I’m not backing off until you eat something,” Leon shoved the banana at him again. “C’mon, all these people are taking breaks, and they’re the ones doing the actual work.”

“Can’t,” Arthur wiped his hands compulsively on his jeans. He flicked his eyes back over to where Merlin sat ramrod straight, his eyes wide, blank, and flooded gold.

“He hasn’t changed position in the last thirty seconds,” Leon told him.

“Shut _up_.”

“I will when you eat the bloody banana.” This time Leon nearly took out an eye, and Arthur snatched at the offending fruit with a few vehement swears.

“Fine,” he ripped open the skin and tore off a chunk. “There,” he said when he’d swallowed. “Happy?”

“I don’t think you chewed at all,” Leon said critically. “But yes.” He patted Arthur on the upper arm. “Listen, Merlin probably did things this dangerous all the time back in Camelot, we just didn’t know about it. He won’t appreciate coming back and finding you’ve given yourself an ulcer.” Arthur rolled in his lips. “Arthur?”

“Yeah,” Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “I hear you.”

“Okay.” Leon gave Arthur one final pat before striding back to his post with group seven. Arthur took a much smaller bite of the banana and chewed slowly as he watched the tableau of magic.

It turned out that channeling magical energy from hundreds of people was not so much a test of raw power as endurance. Most of the eight surrounding Merlin had opted to sit in the grass as well, their hands just raised enough to let the magic flow from them and into Merlin’s motionless figure. At this point, the sorceress named Olivia and her group were on break. Arthur saw her speaking in a low voice to Gaius, a water bottle gripped in one hand and an energy bar in the other.

Arthur finished the banana and tossed the peel into the grass. He tugged his hat further over his ears and made his half-hour rounds of the circle.

“Everyone okay?” he murmured to people. “Need water? Food? Replacement?”

People replied that they were fine in low voices and without looking at him. Arthur knew not to take it personally at this point; they had to keep their concentration.

He lingered when he came to Mordred. The man had a light sheen of sweat on his brow, and Arthur went ahead and wiped it away with his glove.

“Thanks,” Mordred muttered.

“You’re doing well,” Arthur touched his shoulder. “You’ve got five minutes until your break.”

“Only five minutes?” Mordred chanced a glance up to Arthur and grinned. “I’m barely breathing hard. Not like those god-forsaken runs you used to make us all go on. In our _armor._ ”

“I had the best knights in the land for a damn good reason,” Arthur tapped the back of Mordred’s head.

Arthur left him to concentrate and had taken fewer than three steps when something _flumped_ behind him.

Arthur’s heart sank as he turned around.

For several eternal seconds, no one seemed to know what Merlin’s sprawled figure meant. Arthur only saw closed eyes and a slack mouth in a deathly pale face.

He was dimly aware of someone calling his name, but he’d already bolted for Merlin. He leapt over the ribbons of magic streaming into the prone figure, but by the time he’d grabbed at Merlin’s face, they’d started fading away.

“Stop!” Aglain roared from a distance. “Tell all groups to stop!”

“Merlin?” Arthur said in a low voice. He thumbed at Merlin’s cheekbones and carefully lifted one eyelid. He nearly had to squint, the golden light pouring from Merlin’s eye was so bright.

“He’s alive.” Arthur looked up to find Gaius kneeled on Merlin’s other side. He had on that blank expression that Arthur last remembered seeing when Uther had forbidden Morgana from leaving London and she’d told him it was too late.

Arthur kept Merlin’s face framed in his hands while Gaius felt for Merlin’s pulse.

“What’s wrong?” Alfred asked from a few paces away.

“I can’t say,” Gaius said in clipped tones. “Arthur, have someone help you get him to the tent.”

“We cannot just _stop_ ,” Reeetsu protested.

“We cannot continue in the state he’s in,” Gaius snapped. “His magic has stagnated. Arthur—“

“I got it.” Arthur scooped one arm under Merlin’s shoulders, the other under his knees, and carefully levered himself to a stand. Merlin’s head lolled against his shoulder. His skin felt hot.

The opposite of that time Merlin had leapt in front of a dorocha to save Arthur.

(And had survived. How had Arthur not guessed _something_ at that point?)

When Arthur looked up, he found too many pairs of eyes on him. On Merlin. They looked frightened. Anxious. Wary.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, and moved between Aglain and Mordred. They stepped away and let him pass without comment. Mordred raised one hand like he wanted to touch Merlin, but then he let it fall.

People further out had recognized that something was wrong, because raised voices filtered through the copses of trees, and footsteps crushed at grasses and underbrush.

“The King has Emrys!”

“Is he dead?”

“What the hell happened?”

“Did it work?”

Arthur ignored them and readjusted Merlin. Gaius walked at Arthur’s side and had his hands out slightly, as if waiting to catch Merlin if Arthur faltered. He needn’t have worried.

Merlin breathed in soft puffs against Arthur. He concentrated on that.

By the time Arthur reached the large tent back at the campground, he had a small procession behind him, and it made him think of mourners. Only these mourners looked more stricken than grieving. Hope still lingered in them, but it was a precarious, uncertain hope and no one wanted to indulge in it too soon.

“Here,” Gaius pulled out a small cot when they entered the tent. Merlin, skinny as he was, nearly filled it out entirely. Arthur thought a moment, then peeled off his coat and yanked off the jumper underneath it. He folded the jumper up and placed it under Merlin’s head. The coat spread across Merlin as a blanket.

“Arthur? Gaius?”

Gwen stood at the tent doorway. She had one hand gripping the cloth and her gaze fixed on Merlin. But her voice was steady when she said, “They want to know what’s happening. What do I tell them?”

“Merlin is alive,” Gaius said in a weary voice. “But something has gone wrong. That’s all I can guess at.”

Gwen nodded once and disappeared. Arthur heard her voice and loud murmurings immediately following. The tent entrance twitched aside again, this time to admit Aglain.

“I asked the others to stay outside,” Aglain told Gaius. “Overcrowding is the last thing we need.”

“Thank you,” Gaius nodded.

“Did anyone see exactly what happened?” Aglain asked as he crouched by Merlin’s side and placed two fingers on his neck. “I had my eyes closed.”

“He just collapsed,” Gaius rubbed at his temple. “I saw him hitch slightly, then fall over. Nothing more than that.”

“Hm,” Aglain peeled open Merlin’s eye, and he too leaned her head back at the light he found there.

“He’s soaked with raw magic,” he said, looking up at the two men. “It’s practically pooling in him.”

“Which means?” Gaius asked.

“If he was in the rift like planned, then he’d be exposed to absolutely gobs of magic.” Aglain frowned deeply. “He’s still there. He has to be. Even all of us couldn’t make his eyes look like _that_.”

“What went wrongthough?” Arthur insisted.

“We can barely guess,” Aglain stood. “No one knows what Merlin found in that rift.”

“He could have overextended himself,” Gaius shrugged. “Or forgotten himself. Or gotten stuck.”

Arthur rubbed at his eyes.

“What do we do then?” he asked.

No one replied immediately.

“We could try and wake him up,” Gaius said, his voice heavy. “But we might do damage in the process.”

“But if we don’t try, then all of Albion might fall,” Aglain pointed out. “Neither decision is ideal, but if we have to choose—“

“No.”

Both men looked at Arthur.

“Merlin has put himself in death’s path enough times,” Arthur had one hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “We don’t need to do it for him. No one touches him.”

“Arthur—“ Gaius started.

“Don’t.”

An awkward silence.

“We gather the representatives and we will discuss it,” Aglain said. “And we will come to a decision.”

“Good,” Arthur clipped out. “I’ll take care of Merlin.”

“Arthur.” Aglain’s face was hard. “If we agree to a plan, we have to carry through with it. Your personal desires can’t stop that.”

Arthur gave Aglain a stony look.

“I’ll take care of Merlin,” he repeated.

Gaius and Aglain exchanged a single look, and eventually filed from the tent.

Arthur waited until they’d left before he buried his face in both his hands and released a low, stuttering sound.

***

Gwen hunched in her chair like a hunted thing, her eyes more or less fixed on Merlin. She had burst into the tent five minutes ago raging at “damn rubberneckers who can’t appreciate the need for some privacy, thank _god_ for Aglain’s wards” and then shot straight for Merlin’s side.

“What did they say?” she asked Arthur, her brown hand gripping at Merlin’s too-pale one.

“That Merlin is soaked in magic and they have no idea how it happened or how to fix it,” Arthur said in a dull voice. “Then they went off to meet with Kilgarrah and Mordred and the rest to figure out what to do next. They might try and force him awake. It might hurt him.”

Gwen’s sigh was short and forceful, and she reached out to brush at the fringe of Merlin’s hair.

“He didn’t want to be the one to go in,” she muttered darkly. “You saw how it happened in that tent. Everyone expects him to solve all their problems and they don’t even realize he’s still a person.” She looked up at Arthur. “They’ve turned him into a god.”

Arthur pulled at his mouth.

“Well,” he said in a rough voice. “I guess they haven’t all had the benefit of seeing him covered in pond scum.”

Gwen stared at him for a blank second, then snorted so abruptly she doubled over.

“I’d forgotten about that,” she hid her eyes under her hands, her shoulders shaking. “Oh, he _stank_.”

“Gaius wouldn’t let him in his chambers until he’d washed,” Arthur glanced over at Merlin’s slack face, the corner of his mouth braiding upward.

“He had to burn those clothes eventually,” Gwen tilted her head up, her hand on her forehead. “Poor Merlin, he only had something like three outfits.”

“I gave him a new shirt and breeches,” Arthur murmured. “Told them they were old ones a former servant had left behind.” He raised his eyebrows at Gwen. “Don’t think he ever figured out I had them made especially for him. He’s so lanky, nothing ever fit him right.”

Gwen’s face fell into something sympathetic. She reached out with her other hand and laid it on Arthur’s knee.

“I felt guilty, see,” Arthur explained. “Because I was the one who made him fetch my arrow, when I shot too wide and it fell into the pond. Those arrows had been a gift from a visiting dignitary. Beautifully made. I didn’t want to lose it. So I made Merlin fetch it and I um. I didn’t make his life easy in general,” Arthur’s hand covered Gwen’s. “I regret that.”

“You cared for him. And he cared for you,” Gwen said.

“Caring for someone doesn’t mean you can’t hurt them,” Arthur wrinkled his brow, then exhaled and pulled his hand from Merlin’s knee to scrub at his face. “I don’t even know…I just want all this to be over. I kept telling myself that we’d fix this rift within a few days and then we’d have months. Years. And I…” He coughed. “I’d get to apologize for everything. The bullying and the intolerance to magic and never really…never really making it clear that I appreciated him. Because even when I thought he was just my manservant, I appreciated him. I don’t think he knew it for sure until I was bleeding to death, and then I went and died on him.” He dragged his head up to meet Gwen’s eyes. “That was…really and truly shit of me.”

“Yes how dare you get betrayed and stabbed?” Gwen deadpanned. But her expression was still gentle. “If it helps,” she said. “I think Merlin knew you appreciated him, despite everything. I mean, I agree you could have made a better effort to make it clear. But he did know.”

“I’m not sure whether that’s you comforting me or reminding me that I’m a bit of an arse,” Arthur huffed.

“Both.” Gwen’s eyes drifted back over to Merlin. “He looks flushed,” she tutted. “Hang on, I’m going to fetch my first aid kit and some water.”

Arthur watched her hurry from the tent, then set his attention on Merlin again.

“You’re putting all of us through a lot of distress, Merlin,” he murmured, and thumbed away a bead of sweat that had started trickling down Merlin’s temple. “You should come back.”

And then, because no one was watching, Arthur stood slightly so he could press his lips to Merlin’s forehead. Merlin’s skin felt furnace-hot. Arthur hovered over Merlin, as if he expected Merlin to open his blue-gray eyes, grin, and call Arthur a clot pole. But then he remembered this wasn’t a fairytale and he hadn’t been a prince for a long time.

Gwen reappeared not two minutes later with one first aid kit, one bucket of water, and one Morgana.

“Damn,” Morgana swore when she saw Merlin, and rushed to lean over him. She felt at his skin with the back of her hand. “The magic…” she gaped at Arthur. “It’s rolling off of him.”

“We’ve heard,” Arthur said, and obligingly held the first aid kit when Gwen thrust it at him. “They’re all discussing it right now.”

“Are they?” Morgana asked as Gwen soaked a cloth in the water. “That’s news to me. They’re not telling us anything out there. Everyone’s in a panic.”

“I _did_ announce several times that Merlin’s not dead and we’re currently in council,” Gwen laid the cloth on Merlin’s forehead. “But I guess people decided they ought to ignore me. Arthur, can you find that thermometer?”

Morgana and Arthur caught each other’s eyes, and Morgana’s mouth tightened into a suppressed smile.

Without warning, her expression slackened the next second. Arthur distinctly felt something unpleasant roll in his gut, and it was familiar enough for him to stand abruptly, Gwen’s first aid kit still in his hands.

“Morgana?” he demanded.

“Um,” Morgana winced, one hand on her forehead. “Another tremor. It—oh.” She sank into a crouch, the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes.

“Hey,” Arthur dropped the kit and practically dove after her. “Hey, Morgana I—Gwen?” He looked up. “Merlin is he…?”

“Twitching,” Gwen was leaning over Merlin’s cot. “But seems stable. Focus on Morgana.”

“Right,” Arthur grabbed at Morgana’s forearms. “Morgana. You remember what Merlin told you earlier?” he asked in a low voice. “Can you remember that?”

“Yes,” Morgana’s voice was surprisingly firm. She lifted her face and took a billowing breath. “Arthur,” she said in a firm voice. “I need you to get me to the tent door.”

“What?”

“I don’t completely trust my legs right now.”

“Right.” Arthur glanced at Gwen. “Okay. Arm around my shoulder.” Haltingly, he and Morgana straightened and shuffled over to the tent entrance. Morgana twitched open the fabric and gazed at the field. Arthur followed her gaze and found something just short of mass panic. People were clutching at one another or clutching their heads or standing stock-still and looking immensely ill. For once, Arthur was glad that he was about as magical as crabgrass, and didn’t experience anything worse than a general sense of ill being.

“There,” Morgana pointed, almost dreamily, and Arthur found a woman crouched in the grasses. She was tugging at her hair and the shake of her shoulders made Arthur think she was crying.

“I was right,” Morgana said in a vague voice. “It’s a little different, but…oh, this is bad.”

“What’s bad?” Arthur asked, pulling Morgana back from the tent entrance by a few steps.

“That woman, the crowd, the magic feeling all wrong and lopsided,” Morgana squinted at Arthur. “It was in my vision and it means we’re reaching a tipping point. We need to do something. Now.”

“ _What_?” Arthur insisted.

Morgana rubbed at her cheek, and her eyes grew sharper. She lifted her chin suddenly.

“We need to talk to the High Priestesses,” she said.

***

Gwen was pacing now, and Arthur had taken her previous seat.

“How would you find them?” Gwen asked Morgana.

“You can’t seriously be—“ Arthur started.

“Sh. Morgana. How would you find them?”

Morgana crumpled and uncrumpled her scarf a few times, frowning at the ground in thought.

“I doubt Nimueh’s going to be easily accessible. I still remember the holy sites,” she finally said. “There’s only so many places that the High Priestesses could have their councils.”

“And you’re going to drive around to all of them?” Gwen asked. Morgana bit her lower lip.

“I’ve been thinking about this the last few days and um…” she rubbed at her arms. “I have a spell or two that would do the trick. Most likely.”

“Ok,” Gwen pursed her lips.

“How is that ok?” Arthur demanded. “Morgana, you were just telling me this morning that you haven’t gotten a handle on your magic yet—“

“But I might still be able to do it,” Morgana’s hands had become fists. “When I started practicing with Mordred, I felt like…like I had a word on the tip of my tongue and couldn’t remember it. My magic is still there somehow. I just need to find it again.”

“Okay?” Arthur gestured. “And suddenly you’re going to remember it? On demand?”

“I’ve got good motivation,” Morgana’s expression hardened. “Really, what other options do we have? We all knew from the start that we needed the priestesses involved. I’m just going to make it happen.”

“Do you think that someone like Gaius or Aglain should find them?” Gwen asked carefully.

“They’d have to run it by the entire group,” Morgana said. “Better that I just do it and get yelled at later. Besides, I’d have an actual shot at getting the High Priestess to listen to me.”

“She’s right about that,” Gwen glanced over at Arthur. Arthur buried his face in one hand and bent over at the waist briefly.

“It’s not like I’m waiting for your permission,” Morgana pointed out.

“Yeah that’s true,” Arthur straightened and sighed. “Then can one of us go with you?”

Morgana’s eyes flicked between Gwen and Arthur.

“As back up,” Gwen said. “In case something happens.”

“Right.” Morgana placed her hands on her hips. “Fair enough. Who volunteers?”

Gwen and Arthur exchanged looks.

“I’ll…stay with Merlin?” Gwen posed the phrase as a question.

“Okay,” Arthur felt a flicker of relief as he stood. “Anyone tries anything funny, you knock them out.”

“Of course,” the corner of Gwen’s mouth tilted up.

“We waiting for anything?” Arthur asked Morgana.

“Nothing at all,” she rubbed at her arms and looked around the tent. “How much longer before people come back?”

“No idea,” Arthur confessed.

“Best move fast then.” Morgana scuffed at the patch of tamped down grass beneath her shoes, then dropped to a crouch and pulled a pocket knife from somewhere in her coat. Gwen and Arthur watched as she gouged out several rough shapes that Arthur eventually recognized as sigils.

“Arthur, come here,” she gestured, and he kneeled beside her. “So,” Morgana waved a hand at the sigils. “This is a spell of location. Used in the old days for priestesses to find one another when they were separated. Morgause taught it to me for emergency purposes.”

“Will it work?”

“No idea,” Morgana admitted. She held out a hand, and Arthur inhaled before taking it.

“Try not to die,” Gwen said in a tight voice.

“I’ll do my best,” Morgana tightened her grip on Arthur’s hand, then held her other hand over the sigils. “This should transport us to the nearest priestess,” she told him. “So you might get some whiplash.”

“Is it like disapparating?” Arthur asked.

Morgana thought a moment.

“Sure,” she said. “Ready?”

“No,” Arthur admitted.

Morgana brought their joined hands against her midsection nonetheless and began speaking. As her words rolled through the tent, Arthur smiled gamely up at Gwen. She tried to return it.

Arthur looked over at Merlin in his cot. His breathing was so shallow, Arthur could barely make out the movements of his chest. Arthur just wished—

And then the world jumped to the left and all of Arthur’s organs flipped.

First, Arthur had to ascertain that he was alive. Next, he gaped up at the trees that stood above him like pillars. Then he winced when something screeched right into his ear.

“I don’t believe that worked!” Morgana was literally jumping up and down, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. “That…that actually…and we’re here and not dead my _god_.” She beamed over at Arthur. “I am _amazing_.”

“Yes you are,” Arthur said honestly, and then returned his attention to the trees. “But I’m sort of duty bound to ask. Are we in the right place?”

“We should…be…” Morgana’s words tapered off. She frowned.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“It looks right,” Morgana spoke in a distracted voice. “But it feels…” she looked at Arthur. “Last time, I could feel the magic humming through this place. It was like a river.”

“And now it’s not?”

“Now it’s stuttering. Like a…what are those things called? Heart murmurs.”

“So something’s wrong.”

“We knew that already, I just didn’t realize it spread to here so quickly,” Morgana stepped forward suddenly and tugged Arthur after her. “C’mon.”

Arthur stumbled slightly as Morgana led them over thick roots and stones. He kept an eye out for any priestess-looking figures, but the forest stood thick and silent around them.

They reached what looked like a pine grove when Morgana suddenly stopped.

“This is it,” she said. “This is definitely it.” She hesitated. “I don’t know the words to gain entry.”

“Thought you remembered all the High Priestess business,” Arthur said.

“I don’t know the password this particular group is using,” Morgana rolled her eyes like it ought to be obvious.

“Could you…give a shout?” Arthur suggested.

“I mean, it’s not as if they don’t know we’re here,” Morgana took a single step toward the pine grove. “Maybe they’ll come out at talk.”

“What else would they do?”

“I know in the old days they’d kill any trespasser without question.”

“Ah.”

“But maybe…” Morgana brushed her hair from her face, lifted her head, and bellowed something in rough words. Arthur took a step back despite himself; the words made something inside him duck its head. And for a few seconds, he saw a glimpse of the Morgana who had tried to kill him. Powerful, dangerous, and terrifying.

When Morgana had fallen silent, she squinted into the pines again.

“What was that?” Arthur asked in a whisper.

“A general declaration of a High Priestess,” Morgana told him. “Might be enough for them to…ah!”

Arthur followed Morgana’s gaze to find a figure hurrying from somewhere among the pines. As she neared, Arthur saw a teenager with bright brown eyes and dressed in what looked like a tunic.

She stopped a few paces away and stared at Morgana without quite blinking.

“How did you _do_ that?” she demanded.

“High Priestess, remember?” Morgana raised her eyebrows. “Can I ask for entry?”

“Um…” the girl glanced behind her. “See, all the High Priestesses are in council right now and I’m not supposed to let anyone in without their permission but...” She looked at Morgana. “By the Goddess. Everything’s wrong.”

“I know,” Morgana said. “We’re having serious problems at the rift right now. The High Priestesses still haven’t come to a decision?”

The girl shook her head.

“Will you let me come and talk to them?” Morgana asked. “This is important, Tracy. You can tell, can’t you?”

“Of course I can tell.” The poor girl looked near tears, Arthur thought. She looked at Arthur. “I might be able to justify letting you in. But not him.”

“He’s coming with me,” Morgana’s hand tightened around Arthur’s.

“You don’t understand. It’s sacrilege.”

“He’s the Once and Future King,” Morgana said. “Does that help any?”

Tracy buried one hand into her hair. “By the Goddess,” she swore. “Seriously? This is _insane_.”

“Or here,” Morgana hurried. “What if we blinded him?”

“I don’t—“ Arthur started.

“Because the main issue is him looking upon the Goddess’ realm, right?” Morgana interrupted. “If he can’t see it…”

“That might be alright,” Tracy brightened. “I mean, I’ll still get a dressing down, but probably not as badly.” She blinked. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”

“I’ll defend you later,” Morgana promised. “This is important, Tracy. Deathly important.”

“Think I don’t know?” Tracy sighed and lifted her hands. “Alright then…King Arthur I presume?”

“Just Arthur is fine,” Arthur said in a sigh.

“Okay, Just Arthur,” Tracy shook her hands a few times, like she was loosening them up. “Basic blinding spell. Won’t be permanent. Shouldn’t even hurt.”

“Shouldn’t?”

“Close your eyes if you please.”

Arthur gave Morgana a brief I’m-blaming-you-if-this-goes-south look, then obligingly closed his eyes. He heard a brief mutter and a tingling in his eyeballs.

“How many fingers?” asked Tracy. Arthur blinked his eyes open and found pitch black. He instinctively grabbed at Morgana’s coat with his other hand.

“Nothing at all,” he admitted.

“Oh good,” Tracy sounded cheerful. “Only ever practiced that once.”

“Er.”

“Alright, hurry up then.” Someone’s feet crunched against leaf litter.

“Lean on me a little,” Morgana’s voice came close to Arthur’s ear, and he obliged. He had a brief moment to appreciate how monumentally iffy this whole thing was before Morgana started walking and he had to stumble to keep up.

He couldn’t have guessed how long they walked on dry pine needles, but at some point he felt soft soil instead. And then Morgana inhaled sharply.

“What?” he demanded. “What happened?”

“The magic,” she murmured. “It’s strong here.”

“Well don’t just gasp like that and not explain yourself,” Arthur grouched. “Thought we were getting attacked.”

“Sorry. I’ll scream if that happens.”

“Thank you.”

As they continued walking, Arthur began to get the sense that there were eyes on him. A prickling on the back of his neck and whisper-soft words that reached his ears. He opted not to ask about it, because he sensed that Morgana was focused on something else entirely.

“Alright,” Tracy’s voice suddenly drifted through the blackness. “Stay here.”

Arthur remained stock still while the sense of being watched increased.

He was just about to ask Morgana whether they did, in fact, have several eyes trained on them or he was just paranoid, when a voice rang out.

“What the _hell_?”

“She sounds angry,” Arthur murmured.

“She looks angry,” Morgana murmured back. Then aloud, “Don’t act so surprised. Things are going downhill fast.”

“I know _that_ ,” Nimueh’s voice came closer. “I can’t believe the Goddess let _him_ in here.”

“What?” Arthur demanded.

“I mean by all rights She should have struck you dead as soon as you stepped foot in here.”

“I blinded him,” Tracy said in a thin voice.

“Tracy, dear, that was the right thinking, but blinding someone isn’t enough. Shouldn’t be enough,” Nimueh said. She huffed. “Well. The Triple Goddess must think you’re important, Arthur. Can’t imagine how. But congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Arthur said stiffly.

“We need to get the priestesses to the rift,” Morgana said. “Things are bad out there.”

“Don’t worry, we’re all feeling it,” Nimueh said.

“Merlin got…trapped or hurt or something,” Arthur added. “They’re at an impasse right now.”

“Ah.” Nimueh said. “That’s slightly worse news.”

“What’s the state of the council?” Morgana demanded.

Nimueh gave a humorless laugh.

“A mess,” she said succinctly.

“Then let me in there,” Morgana said.

“You can’t—“

“I’m still a High Priestess,” Morgana’s voice rose in volume. “This is _not_ the time for politics, and if a load of grown women can’t grasp that then the Goddess help us all.”

A long pause.

“You know what? Fine. Okay.” Nimueh made a sound like she was puttering her lips. “Going to have some fireworks but okay. Arthur, you—“

“Will come with me,” Morgana said stoutly. “He might startle some of them into actually listening.”

“No, yeah, that’s a good point,” Nimueh admitted. She took a deep breath. “This way. Tracy, you let people know we might be moving out soon.”

“You got it,” Tracy said, sounding slightly breathless. Morgana tugged at Arthur and they were moving again.

Arthur got the distinct sense after a little while that they had somehow entered a cave. The temperature dropped and the air started feeling clammy and smelling like minerals. Their footsteps created a small, echoing sound.

Abruptly, the space around Arthur opened up. He tilted his head as if to sense the size of the space, only then a chorus of voices created a massive influx of echoes.

“If you could just—“ Nimueh started.

“What is _that_ doing here?”

“This is unheard of!”

“You dare to desecrate this place?“

“Please just—“

“Katrina no!”

“STOP!” That was Morgana, and Arthur shuddered when something hot suddenly rippled across his skin.

Deathly silence.

“You okay?” Morgana muttered. Her voice reverberated through the cave.

“Should I…not be okay?”

“One of them just threw a curse at you.”

The bottom of Arthur’s stomach dropped out.

“And you saved me?”

“Yes.“

Arthur considered this a moment.

“Your magic is developing nicely,” he finally said in what he hoped was a steady voice.

“I just reacted.”

“Still.”

“Thanks. They’re all still staring by the way. Gonna have to talk to them.”

“You do that.”

Morgana cleared her throat, then spoke in a louder voice. “I’m not going to waste time mincing words. Words mean nothing.”

“You cannot—“

“ _You_ cannot think it’s even remotely acceptable to sit here and squabble when you _know_ Albion is falling apart,” Morgana had gone from a low, comforting voice to a feral snarl within a few seconds, and Arthur could all-too-well conjure a mental image of what her face looked like. “Your time of hiding and hoarding your secrets and your pride is over. Act, for god’s sake. Serve your Goddess through more than nice sacrifices and simpering prayers. Look at this man next to me. He is King Arthur, the Once and Future King, and the Triple Goddess has let him pass through her realm unharmed. You really think that the normal rules and traditions apply right now? Do you _really_ think that?”

This time, Arthur just heard a lot of shuffling and mutterings.

“She is right,” a voice said. Not Nimueh’s. It took Arthur a few seconds. It had been thousands of years after all. “My _sister_ ,” the voice continued. “Is absolutely right.”

“Thank you, Morgause,” Morgana said, and something bright had entered her voice. It made Arthur’s stomach flop again, though for different reasons entirely.

“Here is what I propose,” Morgause spoke. “We cannot force anyone to go to the rift. But let those who wish go there. As Morgana has said, us sitting here and arguing the same points will lead to nothing.”

“I refuse to work with Emrys and this…this Pendragon,” a woman snapped.

“Then you will obviously be staying here Katrina,” Nimueh said. “Just as well. You might break out in hives talking to anyone who isn’t a priestess.”

“No one here appreciates your attitude,” the voice named Katrina said in a flat voice.

“What is the situation at the rift, exactly?” an older woman’s voice asked. Morgana explained tersely what method they had been using, and how Merlin had gotten stuck somehow.

“I’m not surprised,” the older woman’s voice sounded tired. “Even a sorcerer of Emrys’ standing, with as much power as he had, should fear to walk into a wound such as that.” A pause. “I will go to the rift, then. I made my vows as a High Priestess to serve this land, I had better keep them.”

Arthur strained to garner anything from the long silence that followed.

“I too,” a new woman said.

“And I,” came a Welsh accented voice.

“Then we agree to let each priestess act as she sees fit?” Morgause asked. A low rumble of what sounded like assent.

Morgana’s grip on Arthur tightened compulsively. Not in fear this time.

***

Arthur didn’t have the blinding spell removed until after people had had a chance to pack their things and they’d walked back into the forest, so he couldn’t have said much about the High Priestesses’ hideout save that there had been a cave.

“You won’t be able to say even that much,” Nimueh told him as she removed the blinding spell. “I’m going to have to hold you to an oath of secrecy.”

“An oath?” Arthur blinked at the sudden flood of sunlight. Nimueh’s pale face floated before him. She looked worn out, with dark circles under her eyes and her lank hair pulled back in a messy tail.

“If you try to say anything, your voice will give out,” Nimueh explained. “If you write it down, you’ll lose control of your hand. That sort of thing.”

“Is it a rule?”

“Of all people, you’re the last one I want knowing about where we live.”

Arthur got the distinct impression that were Nimueh less exhausted, she’d be a lot nastier about this. Only then she said, “I’d make you take the oath that kills you if you speak a word about us, but Morgana probably wouldn’t like it.”

“Mm,” Arthur said, and decided not to be surprised. “Alright then, oath away.”

It was a simple matter of repeating Nimueh’s words (words that sounded vaguely threatening and archaic, which seemed to be the go-to style for priestesses). When they’d finished, Arthur took the chance to look around at the small group surrounding them.

Besides Nimueh, he saw four other women who looked imposing enough to be High Priestesses. One had familiar waves of yellow hair and thick kohl around her eyes. She was also grasping both of Morgana’s hands and talking with an earnest expression on her face. Morgana was listening like she’d just found something she had no idea she’d lost.

“Jealous?” Nimueh asked casually. Arthur side-eyed her.

“Jealous of what?” he asked, though he failed to keep the odd tone from his voice.

“Give them a break,” Nimueh yanked her hair tie out and fluffed her hair out before gathering it up again. “You’ve had the chance to grow up with Morgana. Morgause has just found her.”

“Sorry for being wary. Last time, Morgause was the one who put Morgana on the warpath against Camelot.”

“Not against Camelot, if I heard correctly. Against you. Not sure how you can blame her.”

“For god’s—” Arthur turned properly to Nimueh, who was snapping her hair tie in place. “Listen, I’m fully aware that my father hasn’t had the best policies, back then or today, alright?”

“I’m glad you can label suppressing a whole culture as ‘not the best policies,’” Nimueh’s expression was flat.

“I want to change it,” Arthur continued. “I told this to a tent full of druids and sorcerers, and I’ll tell it to you. I really do want to change it.”

“Good,” Nimueh turned away. “Maybe I’ll believe it when you depose Uther.”

Arthur made a low, frustrated sound and clenched his fists as Nimueh glided toward Tracy.

Tracy, like most of the priestesses, had small bags with them. Spell casting supplies, if Arthur had to guess.

Arthur counted sixteen women total, including Morgana. Five high priestesses—identified by their richer looking clothing—and ten teenagers and other women who dressed more simply. He knew that there had been nine High Priestesses total, so they could claim some victory in persuading a majority of them to help. He just had to hope it would be enough.

Merlin in his cot flickered through Arthur’s mind’s eye.

“Arthur?”

Arthur turned to find Morgana approaching him, Morgause trailing behind.

“Here,” Morgana touched at Morgause’s arm and brought her closer. “I know you two remember one another and I know it wasn’t ever a friendly relationship. But I just wanted…” she bit at her lip briefly. “Think we could try?”

Arthur met Morgause’s eye.

“You understand why my first instinct is not to trust you?” Morgause asked.

“I do,” Arthur dipped his head briefly. “Do you understand why I might be wary of your intentions?”

Something in Morgause’s jaw twitched.

“Yes,” she said, then turned to Morgana. “For you, my sister, I might be able to try.”

“Right. Same,” Arthur lifted a hand.

Morgana looked about ready to burst.

“Alright!” Nimueh called out, and their heads swiveled in her direction. “We all know where to go? Good?”

“Come,” Morgause touched both Arthur and Morgana’s arms.

Everything jerked again.

When Arthur blinked again, he found a low, white tent. In front of it stood several druids. They stared at the crowd of new arrivals.

“Er,” Morgana started. “Sorry.”

The druids did not look so much frightened as genuinely confused, until a woman in a green shawl suddenly widened her eyes.

“I don’t…” she took a step forward and peered at Morgause first, then Nimueh, then the other priestesses. “Are you High Priestesses?”

Morgause drew herself to her full height.

“We are,” she said. “I apologize for our delay.”

“Bless me,” the woman grinned. “I never thought you all would come.” Behind her, the other druids perked up and gazed at the new arrivals with new interest.

“Please,” Morgana asked the woman. “What’s happened? Has there been any news?”

“I mainly know we’re going to try again as soon as possible,” the woman bobbed her head. “They say Emrys is indisposed, so they’re still deciding whether to wake him or find a replacement. Won’t be easy, I say, not many like Emrys on this earth.”

“We need to get to them,” Nimueh touched at Morgana’s shoulder, and she nodded hard.

The group hurried through the crowd of tents, with people saying things like, “Are those the priestesses then?” or “I told you so!” as they passed.

It took them a few minutes, but soon they approached the small hill where Merlin had collapsed earlier. They could hear the rumble of many voices speaking as they climbed it.

Suddenly:

“Arthur? Morgana?”

Immediately followed by.

“Oh thank the lands and seas.”

Arthur, Morgana and the priestesses approached the small crowd of people in silence, and the two groups took a moment to gauge one another. Aglain, Gaius, and the rest looked like they didn’t quite believe what they saw.

Nimueh strode forward, somehow managing to look ten kinds of imposing.

“I couldn’t convince all my sisters to come,” she said in a proper voice. “But this is the help I could muster. I present High Priestesses Morgause, Sulwyn, Chakori, Renatta, and myself, Nimueh. In addition, our novices and bendruis. I hope we will be a boon.”

“You honor us, High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess,” Aglain spoke, and returned the bow gracefully. The High Priestesses nodded solemnly.

“Right,” Nimueh fell back into more comfortable speech. “What have we got? I’ve heard that Emrys is out of commission and we’re still deciding whether to risk waking him or finding a replacement?”

“That is indeed our question,” Kilgarrah nodded. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Well,” the elderly women Nimueh had identified as Chakori, whose voice Arthur recognized, said. “The question simply is: is there any being who has Emrys’ connection to Albion? We have always known that his very soul is a child to the land and its magic.”

“A dragon might claim the same position,” Kilgarrah said. “Emrys and I are kin of a sort. And I have already said I am willing to try to take his place.”

“You’re not ideal,” Chakori warned. “Emrys has been wandering this land for centuries, building ties to it all the while. I don’t know that we can settle for anything less than the ideal.”

“So you say we ought to wake Emrys?” Alfred asked.

“We cannot continue to try this method and keep making mistakes,” Chakori said stoutly. “Time is of the essence.”

“Why are we asking a dragon to take Emrys’ place? Or trying to wake Emrys up though?” Morgause asked, looking genuinely confused. Everyone looked at her. “Why don’t we send someone down to rescue him, and then help him continue his work?” she continued.

“Who would we send?” Gaius asked. “It would be a dangerous job.”

“The Triple Goddess. She is Albion’s eldest daughter. She would be able to find him.”

“You can direct your goddess to do such a thing?” Fatimah asked.

Morgause lifted her hands slightly.

“We are the Goddess’ High Priestesses,” she said. “Through us, the Goddess can do near whatever she wishes.”

The wind whistled through the dry grasses and people studied Morgause. Arthur thought he understood their hesitation. After so much guessing and turmoil, this solution seemed almost too easy. As if there had to be a catch somewhere.

“Well,” Aglain said, thumping his staff on the ground and looking around. “It’s the best option _I’ve_ heard in the last hour.”

All anyone seemed able to do was nod in agreement.


	19. Chapter 19

They would begin within the hour, Nimueh told Morgana and Arthur. So at Arthur’s hurried suggestion, the two of them opted to go back to the tent where they had left Merlin.

When they neared the tent, they found the knights standing around the entrance, hands resting conspicuously on their police guns. Elyan was the first to see them, and said something to the rest.

“How did it go?” Percival asked as soon as Arthur and Morgana were within speaking distance.

“Did you really go to the High Priestesses?” Leon asked, as if he would like to scold them for doing such a thing.

“We’re hearing ten kinds of rumors. Did you really bring back an army?” Gwaine asked.

“An army?” Morgana wrinkled her nose. “Who were _you_ listening to?”

“We have about sixteen priestesses here,” Arthur hastened. “And they’re going to help rescue Merlin and finish the job.”

“Really?” Elyan perked up. “Just like that?”

“They’re a powerful group of people,” Morgana said.

“Right. So. How’s Merlin?” Arthur asked, trying not to sound too impatient. He received several shared glances among the knights.

“He’s not…not exactly worse or anything,” Lance finally said.

“Not—” Arthur swore under his breath and moved past the knights to sweep open the tent’s entrance.

“Oh, there’s also—” Percival started, but by then, Arthur had already blanched at the large white thing curled in one corner of the tent. It had wings and sharp blue eyes and looked, objectively speaking, like a small version of Kilgarrah.

Behind him, he heard Morgana make a sharp noise.

“Oh,” said a familiar voice. “Hello Arthur. Hi Morgana.”

Arthur lifted his head to find Freya sitting in the chair next to Gwen. She looked weary but unbowed. As she stood and strode toward him, he decided that something about her looked different. More ethereal.

“Sorry I got here so late,” Freya said. “I had to get a lot of things done.”

“Is that…” Morgana had her eyes fixed on the small white dragon. “Is she…”

“Aithusa,” Freya gestured, grinning. “I met up with her on my way to the lake and she agreed to give me a ride.”

The dragon—Aithusa. Arthur did remember her now, though in his memory she had been much thinner and worn looking—made a low bugle and shifted her head in Morgana’s direction.

Three strides, and Morgana had knelt beside the dragon and placed her hands on her muzzle. Aithusa bugled again and nudged at Morgana.

“I don’t believe this,” Morgana peered into Aithusa’s eyes, then grinned up at Arthur and Freya. “I mean, maybe I should have expected it, but I didn’t want to hope…” She suddenly wiped at her eye with the palm of one hand. “God, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Freya told her firmly, then turned to Arthur again. “Good to see you again, by the way.”

“Er, right,” Arthur rubbed at the side of his neck. “I think last time you were a giant panther thing and I was trying to kill you. Apologies.”

“Mm. No,” Freya tilted her head and grinned. “More recent than that.”

“I…what?” Arthur looked to Morgana and Gwen for help, which was a mistake because Morgana was still buried in Aithusa and Gwen just smiled enigmatically.

“Avalon?” Freya took pity on him. “I’m the Lady of the Lake. Do you remember that Merlin sent you into my lake after you died?”

“No.” Arthur’s eyes flicked automatically to Merlin, who had been lost in the appearance of a dragon and Freya. He looked the same as when Arthur had left him. Possibly paler. Gwen was dabbing at his brow with a damp cloth.

“I think it was Albion’s doing, as per usual,” Freya explained, and Arthur returned his attention to her. “But when all of these people died—you, Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, your knights, all these townspeople and druids—their souls were entrusted to me. And I kept you all at in Avalon and acted…well, as your stewardess in a way.”

“Really?” Arthur frowned. “I…have no recollection of that.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t remember that part either,” Gwen shrugged. “But it explains how we all reincarnated. Our souls were put in safe harbor, right Freya?”

“Right,” Freya nodded. “And then Albion started to call you all into the mortal world again, and I ended up following you. I wasn’t about to let my charges run around without supervision.”

“You didn’t know you were the Lady of the Lake though,” Morgana pointed out, still rubbing at the base of Aithusa’s skull.

“Well, yes,” Freya rubbed at her nose. “But I had the right intentions.”

Arthur slowly rubbed at his chin and eyed Merlin’s figure, straining to remember this afterlife. Betweenlife. Something.

“Were we all there?” he asked Freya. “All living together?”

“Avalon is an infinitely big land,” Freya said. “But yes, you were all there.”

“Were we happy?”

Freya bit her lip.

“Content,” she drew the word out. “But I think we could all tell we were waiting for something. So there was some element of anticipation. And some element of sadness.”

Arthur met Morgana’s eye.

“But the point is,” Freya continued. “We’re all here again, and,” here she whirled around and ducked underneath Merlin’s cot. “I have something for you, Arthur.”

Arthur could tell what it was as soon as he spotted the long, thin package. But it was more than that. It was the little ripple of sense memory.

“How on earth did you…?” Arthur started.

“I had to travel to my lake by car so that took some time,” Freya began tearing the brown paper away. “And then about halfway back Aithusa found me and we flew the rest of the way. But I knew you ought to have it; you’re the king returned, Arthur.”

“Oh, I’m not…” Arthur held up his hands. “I might have been at one point. But I’m no king. We’re not even fighting anything; not sure what a sword would be for.”

“Fighting isn’t the point. And I beg to differ,” Freya told him. “Once and Future means exactly what it says. Albion isn’t about mincing its words.” She looked back at Gwen. “Just as you are the Once and Future Queen. And those fine men eavesdropping outside are knights sworn to serve the King and Queen. There is a reason that your names have survived the centuries when so many others have faded. There’s a reason that Albion kept all of our souls alive and called us back in its time of trouble. We have a purpose here.”

As she said these words, Freya let the last of the paper fall away, and Excalibur gleamed in her hands like it had been freshly forged. A muffled silence fell over the tent, like it was waiting for something.

Freya held up the sword.

“I am the Lady of the Lake,” she said firmly. “And I have the power to bestow this weapon on those who are worthy.” She held it out. “It was only really ever forged for you, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t move for the sword, but gazed on it like it was yet another old friend met after a long while. It practically hummed at him, and the metal seemed to flash invitingly.

“I don’t feel like a king,” he said in a low voice, keeping his eye on Excalibur. “I died five years into my reign. I never really solved the problems plaguing Camelot. I never united Albion and the Old Religion found me wanting. I…” he blinked up at Freya, then to Gwen, to Morgana, to Merlin. He could feel the knights hovering at the tent entrance. And he wanted to hide from all of them, because they didn’t need to see this.

“Well then,” Gwen stood. “See this as another chance.”

Freya lifted the sword slightly.

“Merlin made it for you,” she said in a low voice. “It was forged by Gwen’s father, and given its magic by Kilgarrah’s fire, but Merlin was the one to bring those elements together, and he was the one to bestow it on you. Most wouldn’t try to argue with what Emrys decided.”

Arthur looked over at Merlin again.

“I argued with him plenty,” he murmured, but then he reached out one hand and brushed at Excalibur’s hilt. It sent a warm buzz up his arm. That gave Arthur the drive to wrap his hand around the hilt and lift it from Freya’s hands.

He could tell something was happening; some pulse, some beacon emanated from where his hand met Excalibur. It was not the sick feeling produced by the rift; it was like a long hug from someone gone too long a time. Like things slotting back into place with a quiet sigh of deep relief.

Arthur blinked and looked around the tent. His friends’ faces looked bathed in a warm glow that had no obvious source. Something that reminded Arthur of early morning sunlight creeping across the faces of city buildings.

“That’s good,” Freya said in a low voice, smiling widely. “That’s very good.”

Arthur wanted to ask her what she meant, but then he became aware of something.

A few seconds before, the tent had been wrapped in the bustle of hundreds of people talking and shouting and doing their errands. And now nothing.

“What happened,” Arthur twitched his head toward the tent entrance, to where his knights were watching him with wide eyes. “Is something wrong? Another tremor.”

“Nothing like that,” Morgana stood.

“Er,” Gwaine said. “Might want to come out here, Arthur.”

Arthur gripped at Excalibur, then strode for the tent’s entrance. His knights stepped aside to let him through, and he found a crowd. Completely silent, watching him like they weren’t sure what they saw, but they knew it was something important. Men and women. Children and teenagers. Druids, sorcerers, witches, and magical creatures. They drifted toward the tent like they’d been caught in some soft eddy, yet none of them looked perturbed by it. They just watched Arthur with rapt attention. Perhaps they were waiting for him to do something.

Arthur looked around him for help.

“What’s going on?” he asked Leon in a low voice.

“Well for one,” Leon said in a steady voice. “You’re glowing.”

“Glowing?”

“A bit.”

Arthur looked down at his hands and arms—uncovered from when he’d given his sweater and coat to Merlin—and realized that his skin was not at all cold. And it did, in fact, have a low luminescence to it. Nothing blatant; just a pale, rose-hued light that hung over his skin like morning mist over a lake.

“You really are,” Gwen said thoughtfully as she drew up next to Arthur. Arthur blinked at her.

“You are too,” he said blankly.

Gwen frowned, then looked down. Her glow was also soft and unobtrusive, though this light had a deeper, golden color to it, and it reminded Arthur of midday suns and hot, rich afternoons.

Dawn and midday, he thought suddenly. It felt fitting on an oblique way.

He wondered who was evening. And who was night.

“They’re waiting,” Freya said calmly from behind them. Arthur glanced back.

“What for?”

Freya just gave him a look.

Arthur looked over the crowd again, which had swelled. He grasped automatically for Gwen’s hand; she captured his hand and twined their fingers together.

And then, Arthur realized that he had been here before. Back then, he’d just slid Excalibur from its stone and his people had gazed at him the same way, like they expected something great from him. So instinctively, he raised Excalibur.

It captured the sunlight in a bold flash, and a sudden shout floated from the crowd.

“Long live the Once and Future King!” it roared. “Long Live the Once and Future Queen!”

As if they’d been waiting for the cue, the crowd took up the cry, and the words thundered across the field.

“Long live the Once and Future Queen!” the words vibrated Arthur’s body. “Long live the Once and Future King!”

He looked down at Gwen, and found her gazing out at the people with rapt attention. Her glow had doubled, he decided, and she looked something like a small sun standing beside him. He wondered if the same had happened to him.

Gwen must have sensed his gaze, because she tilted her head up and met his eyes. She smiled. And she leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Arthur returned it on her brow.

Then they looked out on the crowd again as it celebrated the return of Albion’s monarchs.

***

Arthur didn’t quite register how he got from standing before a roaring crowd with Gwen to sitting in the chair next to Merlin with a new coat draped over his shoulders. He knew Gaius was involved somehow, because there he was tutting that Arthur had been without a coat for the last few hours.

But his mind remained floating in dawn skies and the only real things in his world were Gwen still casting afternoon light a few paces away, Merlin silvery as the full moon next to him, and Morgana the deep purple-blue-black of a moonless, star-studded sky. That, and Excalibur still flashing at him even in the relative dimness of the tent.

“Did he get knocked in the head?” he heard someone ask—Elyan, Arthur decided.

“He accepted his kingship all at once,” Freya explained. “It gives a sort of…magical adrenaline shot to a person. Can be overwhelming, especially one without his own magic.”

“They’re still going a little crazy out there,” Nimueh’s voice drifted from the tent entrance.

“We need to get them calmed down and organized,” Gaius said. “I don’t like Merlin’s chances the longer we wait.”

That made Arthur blink and lift his head.

“Are we ready?” he asked. “Are we going to rescue Merlin?”

Several faces regarded him with varying levels of wariness.

“Yes,” Morgana finally said, one hand resting on Aithusa’s flank. “Arthur, can you help us? They’ll be ready to listen to you and Gwen.”

“Yeah,” Arthur blinked again, and the world slid a bit more into how he remembered it. “Sorry I…Morgana, why are you and Merlin also glowing?”

Morgana frowned.

“Am I?” she asked the tent at large.

“Not that I can see,” Gwen mused.

“Told you, Arthur just accepted a whole lot of power all at once,” Freya said patiently. “Adrenaline shot.”

“Listen, are we going to get going or not?” Nimueh snapped.

“We are,” Arthur stood abruptly, and didn’t even stagger. “What do we need to do?”

Five minutes later, after Arthur had procured a scabbard, he and Gwen had stridden out into the crowd and…well, started leading, Arthur supposed. Whether or not everyone else could see it, he knew that he and Gwen still carried that golden light. And maybe that was what made people actually listen to him when he explained the new plan, when he outlined what they needed to make happen.

Not that anyone was fawning over him. Not that they didn’t ask questions or challenge his word a few times. But in the end, the people seemed to want to trust him. It felt familiar and strange all at once.

Soon the camp began to empty out in droves, as people strode back to their positions with a new lift of hope.

Arthur eventually circled back to the main tent, and found the knights getting ready to carry Merlin back to the small hill.

He stood at the entrance for several seconds and studied Merlin. He still had the silvery full moon glow; faded but not gone.

“May I?” Arthur asked, and the four men lifted their heads. Lance stepped back first, and the others followed. They looked at him oddly, as if they too still saw some other light coming from him.

Merlin, if nothing else, had become lighter. He was far too easy to heft up, and soon Arthur was making a good pace back to the hill. The knights followed him, falling into their old formation as easy as breathing. At some point Gwen fell in beside him on one side, and Morgana on the other. No one spoke. Arthur didn’t think anyone needed to speak. It felt as if they weren’t quite themselves, as if something larger directed them. Arthur knew that usually he’d be disturbed by the sensation, but at this point it just felt expected.

When they reached the designated spot, Arthur placed Merlin gingerly on the yellowed, dead grass and tightened his coat and scarf. He allowed himself several seconds to study the face that had once felt as familiar as Arthur’s own. He remembered it grinning slyly, laughing outright, about to cry, set in bone-deep determination, contorted in pain. Watching Arthur from the other side of the room when he thought he wasn’t seen, with something warm and alive in his expression.

Arthur sniffed, then rubbed his thumb across Merlin’s forehead, like he was giving a blessing. The place where their skin touched creating a meeting between his dawn light and Merlin’s full moon.

“We need to start,” Nimueh said. Arthur looked up and found her standing above him. She had an expression that might be called pitying.

Arthur stood with a heavy exhale, then went to where Gwen and the knights stood waiting for him. Gwen took his arm as soon as he neared, and he appreciated her closeness. They watched Morgana gather with the other priestesses around Merlin. After some murmured words, they joined hands and all looked at Merlin sprawled in their center.

Arthur’s breath came in several sharp inhales and one strained exhale.

***

Morgana hadn’t known what to say when Morgause told her that they wanted her to join the priestesses in calling upon the Triple Goddess.

She’d eventually come up with “Seriously?” and “Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” Morgause had given her small half smile. “You have the capability. I taught you myself, I would know.”

“Right,” Morgana had looked over at Merlin. “But I don’t _really_ have my magic under control. Not yet.”

“You transported yourself and Arthur very well,” Morgause pointed out. “And protected him from Katrina. Those were no small feats.”

“I was working from instinct,” Morgana protested.

“This will be from instinct too,” Morgause told her. “Follow our lead; you’ll find your way eventually. Besides, we want Emrys to have a familiar presence. And you care for him, don’t you?”

Morgana twisted her hands together.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Well then. Take that as your motivation.”

Morgana must still have looked unsure, because Morgause grasped her hands in a familiar gesture.

“You are as much a High Priestess as me, sister,” she said. “I told you in the past that you had remarkable power in you. That hasn’t changed.”

Morgana had managed a small smile.

Now, as Morgana took Morgause’s and Tracy’s hands, she tried to calm her pounding heart and focus on the words that needed to be said. In the distance, masses of people began calling up their magic, each with their own signature, and sending it up through the chain.

Morgana traced Merlin’s figure with her eyes and, as the magic coursed up to them, thought suddenly that this was an unprecedented event: High Priestesses coming to rescue Emrys.

It might mean something, Morgana thought. She hoped it did.

“Ready?” Aglain called out.

“Ready!” Nimueh agreed.

The magic slammed into the priestesses, and Morgana jolted in mind and body. Somewhere, distantly, she heard Nimueh begin the spell that would call up the Triple Goddess, and Morgana hastened to join.

She had never done this before; she had made prayers and spells that asked for the Goddess’ strength or advice, but she’d never tried to summon Her presence before.

“The Triple Goddess will not manifest as anything you will see, necessarily,” Morgause had told her. “She will be a sense inside you; we will be her vessel and She will act through us.”

Now, as Morgana raised her voice with the other priestesses, she tried to imagine what a Goddess acting through sixteen different people would look like.

The thing was, it wasn’t anything sudden. No burst of sensation or anything like that. It was more that Morgana slowly became aware of a seventeenth presence. And this presence did not have any one point, but hung among their circle like a mist. It felt…well, large, mainly. Trifold. Gilded with a patina of humanity that had more dangerous things underneath; things like childbirth and winters and spring flash floods.

Back in the physical world, Morgana tightened her grip on Morgause and Tracy. Tracy, at least, returned the squeeze, so she must be as unnerved as Morgana. That provided some relief.

No words were exchanged among the priestesses. But eventually Morgana realized that they were ready to dive into the rift, to find Emrys and help him finish his work.

 _Not just Emrys_ , Morgana thought. _Emrys is the man who lived for centuries. Merlin is my friend. We’re here to save him too._

The huge, gilded presence paused. It turned, like the changing phases of the moon, until Morgana felt its attention focused on her.

It didn’t say anything, and Morgana could feel the other priestesses watching. The presence did…something. Sent some sensation rippling through Morgana that felt like a nod of recognition. An agreement to remember what she’d just thought.

Then the presence turned its attention to the rift that throbbed in their collective awareness like an infected wound. It tensed—they all tensed—and then as one unit, one Goddess perhaps, they dived in.

Morgana had been expecting something vomit-inducing inside the rift, or perhaps something that would make her want to hide and scream until she was hoarse. And true, the wound was nothing pretty, nothing appealing. But it also held sadness inside it, which Morgana hadn’t expected. Bitterness, frustration, grief: it swamped the kink where the ley lines’ magic should have flowed and sent a pang through Morgana’s chest.

They could see, though, where Merlin had been working. Fine, tight stiches and closed wounds. He’d had a good start, at least.

They ventured deeper into the rift, and Morgana watched the wounds grow older and more complicated. Merlin’s path of healing stopped suddenly, and they stood there gazing an old, knotted thing that looked like it had scarred too many times to count.

_You’re here, then. That is good._

That, Morgana decided, had not been the Goddess. It was something far, far older and larger and potentially terrifying.

 _We seek to finish Emrys’ work,_ she suddenly spoke with the priestesses. _Where is he?_

 _Inside a memory,_ the thought came slow and heavy. _Involving you, I believe._ A pause. _My daughter, you might be too late._

The trifold presence made no reply, but turned to the memory.

Morgana had to squint to understand what she was seeing, but soon enough she recognized a younger, lankier version of Merlin. He stood across from another version of Nimueh, and the magic crackled around them like ozone. They all watched as the battle ended in a lightning strike, and a snuffing of life. The memory churned, then restarted. Slowly, the Nimueh of the present materialized from their collective presence, like precipitate in water.

 _This is your matter_ , the Goddess told her. Nimueh gave the mental equivalent of a nod, then turned and moved into the memory. The rest moved in behind her, and Morgana searched for any sign of the present Merlin.

He wasn’t hard to find. He’d curled up at the very edge of the memory at some point, and he lay there now motionless. Morgana ached with the desire to go to him, to make sure his spirit was still alive and whole.

Suddenly, Morgana felt a nudge from something too large.

 _Go, child,_ came the thought. Not the Goddess; the larger presence. Albion, if Morgana had to give it a name.

So Morgana took one step forward. Then another. And then she broke into something of a run and reached Merlin just as Nimueh did. They both crouched over Merlin, and Morgana touched at him gingerly.

 _Alive,_ she breathed to Nimueh. _Alive._

She curled her hand—no, not her hand really. Some part of her that acted like a hand—around Merlin’s wrist, as if to keep him that way.

Nimueh had her attention fixed on Merlin as well. She studied him, then raised her head and watched the battle play itself out again. Like a windup toy, Morgana thought.

 _The Triple Goddess and Emrys became enemies this day,_ Nimueh said after a long while of contemplation. _Or at least, unwilling to trust one another._

Morgana tightened her grip on Merlin and waited for Nimueh to continue. Only she didn’t.

 _We need to get Merlin out of here,_ Morgana ventured after some time. _We need to wake him up._

 _We do,_ Nimueh replied, but she sounded vague. She was still watching her past self ask Emrys to join her.

 _Nimueh_ , Morgana tried to inject her urgency in the name. _Help me._ Morgana started hoisting Merlin up, slinging his thin frame over her shoulder. Of course, in the back of her head, she recognized that neither her nor Merlin’s bodies were present. That didn’t stop her mind from acting like it was staggering slightly under Merlin’s weight.

Morgana eased herself to a stand and was about to say Nimueh’s name again—more sharply this time—when Nimueh flicked her attention away from the memory and up to Morgana. No, Morgana realized as Nimueh rose in one fluid motion. To Merlin.

 _Emrys killed off an entire lineage,_ she said almost dreamily. _It took a century for the priestesses to reestablish even a shade of their former glory._

 _Nimueh,_ Morgana took an unconscious step backward and tightened her grip on Merlin’s body. Her magic rose to the surface of herself, churning there like a pot of water just starting to boil.

 _He spared the life of the man who slew us,_ Nimueh advanced a few steps. _Emrys is of magic yet how many creatures of magic has he destroyed? In the name of what? His precious Once and Future King, who dismissed the Old Religion and the Goddess._

 _Nimueh,_ Morgana repeated yet again, and only just realized that she’d been taking steady steps back even as Nimueh advanced. The rain of the memory fell again. Morgana blinked through the drops that spilled down her nose and across her cheeks.

She had to stop when she found the edge of the memory; it felt like a thick, ropy wall; like scar tissue. Beyond it, she could hear the low, thrumming echoes of Albion and the Goddess. But they felt distant, and the wall was solid, and Morgana saw no obvious way of escaping.

 _You don’t need to escape,_ Nimueh soothed her. Her smile was sweet and pale. _I would never harm you, Morgana._

 _Not so sure the same goes for Merlin,_ Morgana replied heatedly. Her magic writhed inside her now, instinctively seeking Merlin and coiling around him as if it could protect him.

The rain tapered off. The characters retook their places on their stage.

 _He’s wronged you, Morgana,_ Nimueh said. _He’s wronged so many of us._

 _Of course he has,_ Morgana cried. _But that doesn’t mean we never wronged him either. It doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to forgive one another._ Something nudged at the edge of Morgana’s magic, but she was too caught up to register it properly. _You were the one who recognized the need to make peace with Emrys,_ she continued. _You’ve been the one arguing that the priestesses work with him the entire time. You’re going to throw all that away? Throw away Albion? For what even? Some bitterness? Some sense of revenge?_

Nimueh swayed slightly, though her eyes remained on Merlin.

Suddenly, her expression shifted.

Morgana felt something green and spring-like open up on her shoulder. She twisted her head, then made an indistinguishable sound when she realized that Merlin had stirred.

 _Merlin?_ She eased him from her shoulder and to the ground. When his feet touched the grass, she thought he’d collapse. Instead he sagged heavily against her and otherwise managed to keep himself upright.

He looked worn down, Morgana thought. His edges didn’t stay together, but wisped away in green-gold strands and coils. But at the same time, his face was raised toward Nimueh and his eyes shone.

 _It’s alright,_ his voice sounded thin. _She has a right to be angry._ He tilted his head toward Morgana. _You do too._

 _I’m not though,_ Morgana said blankly.

 _You probably would be, if we were in a memory of one of my wrongdoings against you._ Merlin pushed a smile out toward Nimueh. _This is your death knell, Nimueh. It’s all right that it rattles you. I feel it too._

Nimueh squinted hard at Merlin, as if unsure what to make of him.

 _I don’t—_ she started, but didn’t finish. She glanced back at the memory, then to Merlin again. _Is it like this everywhere?_ she asked.

Merlin nodded.

 _That’s what’s been making this rift,_ he explained. _All the mistakes that I’ve made. You’ve made. Morgana and Arthur and Uther and Morgause. We did a number on Albion when we did that. We made a crack too big to really heal._

Merlin sagged slightly, and Morgana hefted him against her. Nearly without thinking about it, she brushed her lips against his temple. Something like a promise. Or a wordless apology and granting of forgiveness all at once. She could have sworn she caught a whiff of fresh grass and new flowers.

He smiled, quietly.

 _We can heal the rift now though,_ Morgana turned to Nimueh. _We’re well on our way. If you want to help us, then help us. Otherwise, I won’t hesitate to strike you down. Albion is more important._

The crack of thunder around them made all three jump, but it made Nimueh almost collapse. She bent over at the waist, her arms wrapped around her midsection, and her face had crumpled into something indistinguishable.

 _It hurts_ , she all but wheezed. _I lost my sisters. I lost my family. It wasn’t_ fair _._

 _It wasn’t,_ Merlin agreed tiredly. _Nimueh…here._ He held out a hand, and Nimueh regarded it like she had no idea what to do with it. But then something cleared, and she straightened slightly. She studied Merlin, flicked her eyes to Morgana, then took a deep breath. And she reached out and accepted the hand.

Something deep shuddered. Morgana felt it in the core of her magic, and she knew Merlin and Nimueh had felt it too. The memory, for the first time, stuttered.

 _Here,_ Merlin stepped away slightly from Morgana, and took her hand in his as well. _You know healing magic?_

 _Yes,_ Morgana said. Nimueh nodded.

 _It’s just like that,_ Merlin explained. _Just start stitching. The magic will find its way through._

Morgana turned her attention to the walls of the memory. They still looked thick, but now somewhat less impenetrable. She sent out a cautious tendril of magic, as if she were rebuilding a torn muscle. She could feel Merlin’s and Nimueh’s energies beside her own, and within a few minutes, Morgana found herself lost in the rise and fall of the magic, in the minute stitches and the easing of wounded tissue.

She didn’t even notice when the memory dissolved around them. Only that she had a larger space around her, and that it was occupied by the presences that she could only catch in glimpses and parts.

 _Good,_ the voice that Morgana had assigned as Albion rumbled _._

Morgana found the priestesses still there, swirling with collective anxiety. Morgause broke away from the group and rushed up to them, her face shrouded in a cloud of concern.

 _We couldn’t follow you_ , she gripped at Morgana. _It was all too thick and…oh thank the Goddess._

 _We can’t celebrate yet,_ Nimueh said. She’d let go of Merlin’s hand, but her expression was determined now. _We have Emrys. Now we’re going to have to begin the real work._ She took a deep breath. _We won’t stop until we’re done. We can’t afford not to._

Morgause nodded hard, then looked to Merlin.

 _We are ready when you are, Emrys,_ she said in a firm voice.

Merlin—who still had Morgana’s hand in his own—rubbed at her knuckle almost thoughtfully. And when he spoke, he tilted his head toward her.

 _I’m tired,_ he admitted in a low voice.

Morgana grabbed at his arm.

 _Then we’ll carry you_.


	20. Chapter 20

Gwen did not have an Excalibur, or anything equivalent. But that didn’t make her jump any less when something beneath her shifted. No, not just beneath her. Above her too. And on all sides and also somewhere inside.

“Did you feel that?” Gwen asked out loud, and found her voice slightly breathless.

“What?” Gwaine lifted his head and squinted at her. But Arthur was staring at her with his mouth open and a hand gripping at Excalibur’s hilt. Gwen decided that he’d felt it too.

She stood in one motion and stared at where the priestesses still sat, Merlin at their center. They were hard to make out. Dawn had not really come yet, and the land still hung in silvery shadows.

“What?” Gwaine repeated, appearing at Gwen’s shoulder. “Didn’t feel anything.”

“Another tremor?” Elyan asked.

“No,” Arthur said, and his voice sounded tight. “Not that.”

Another deep lurch somewhere, and Gwen broke into a run toward the priestesses and Merlin. She felt Arthur right behind her, and beyond him, the confused pace of the knights.

Morgana’s eyes were already open and their regular blue-green when Gwen reached her.

“Gwen,” she murmured, when Gwen swung into her field of view. She looked like she might fall asleep then and there. Beside her, Morgause scrunched her eyes several times, and looked no more awake than her sister.

“Are you alright?” Gwen compulsively took Morgana’s face in her hands, smoothed at her cheekbones with her thumbs. “Did it work?”

“Mm,” Morgana let go of the hand of the young priestess beside her and brought it up to grip at Gwen’s wrist. “I think so. Merlin—“

Here her sleepy expression sharpened, and her gaze slid past Gwen. Gwen whipped around and at first just saw Arthur’s broad back as he bent over the figure on the ground. Gwaine knelt across from Arthur, Gaius beside him, and around them ranged Elyan, Leon, Lance and Percival, none of their expressions readable in the dimness. Others were joining the crowd; Freya, Aglain, Aithusa, Aulfirc, Kilgarrah. From down the hill, Gwen could hear people speaking in low voices, trying to discern what had happened, whether they had been successful.

Gwen stood, tugged at Morgana, and the women moved across the dry, bent grass. People parted for them almost naturally, and soon they stood over a wan face topped by a shock of dark hair.

“He was getting worn down,” Morgana spoke quietly. Arthur, who had already had a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, moved it to grip at his hand. His shoulders did not look entirely steady.

A beat of long silence. Gwen could feel the land still rolling and stretching around her. Nothing sick-feeling this time. More like someone just woken up and getting ready to get out of bed.

And then Merlin peeled open his eyes, and they looked familiar and blue.

Gwen released a muffled sound and, with the hand not entwined with Morgana’s, reached down to grip at his upper arm. Arthur also made an odd sound, this one coming out more like a sob, and bent his head over Merlin’s chest. Gwaine muttered an emphatic, “Oh thank god,” and Lance began thumping at Elyan’s chest, looking like he wanted to smile but was too overwhelmed to do it properly. Morgana arranged herself at Merlin’s head and peered into his face. Her hair, long and unkempt, swung past her face.

“You did it,” she said, threadbare and beaming.

“Nah,” Merlin croaked. “Ev’ryone.” He then seemed to take stock of the small crowd surrounding him and, with utter seriousness, asked, “Hang on. Was I dead?”

Gaius swore loudly.

***

Getting Merlin to the tent was a feat in and of itself. The crowds had already gathered that the latest developments had been good ones, and did their best to reach Merlin as he shuffled to the campsite, arms slung over Arthur and Gwaine’s shoulders. Gwen understood their elation, but wished they’d see that Merlin was in no condition to celebrate with them. After getting Merlin situated, the knights went off to help handle the crowds a little.

In the end, even Gaius decided that he needed to help in this endeavor, and deigned to leave Merlin in the care of Arthur, Gwen and Morgana. He did make sure that Merlin had a thick blanket over his shoulders and was not in any immediate danger of passing out again, and he patted Merlin’s cheek several times and said “You’ve done well, my boy,” in a voice that didn’t sound entirely steady.

When Gaius had swished out of the tent, the four of them sat in a rough circle in thick, comfortable silence. It was still dim, and their only light came from a few lanterns set up around the tent. Gwen listened to a rising noise outside the tent; a noise that sounded like singing and cheering and loud declarations of triumph and toasts to Emrys and the High Priestesses and the Triple Goddess, to Albion, to the Once and Future King and Queen, to the whole endeavor. Although Gwen supposed that she, Merlin, Morgana and Arthur should technically have been in the thick of it all, no one had come into the tent to disturb them either. Gwen half suspected that Aglain had refreshed the wards from earlier.

Arthur pulled the small kettle from the camp stove and, several minutes later, passed around mugs of tea. He seemed incapable of not giving everyone small touches when he did this; tucking a strand of Morgana’s hair behind her ear, dropping a kiss to Gwen’s hairline, smoothing at Merlin’s neck and shoulder. They all accepted these gestures because they understood where it was coming from.

When “Zombie” blasted somewhere near the tent, Merlin was the one to smile tiredly and finally speak. “Some things don’t change,” he said.

“Can’t blame them for celebrating,” Arthur said in a distant voice. “Things were very up in the air for a while.”

Merlin shifted and set his tea down on the tamped-down grass.

“What happened exactly?” he asked. “Where did the priestesses come from?”

So Morgana and Arthur explained how they had gone to the High Priestesses and convinced them to join them. Gwen described the mood of the camp while they all waited for news. And then she described how Freya had arrived with Aithusa—Merlin visibly perked up at that. They all stumbled a little trying to explain what had happened when Arthur had taken up Excalibur.

“Just Albion responding to its chosen monarchs, sounds like,” Merlin cocked his head. “Things sliding back into place. The same thing happened when Arthur and then Gwen were crowned, back in the old days. It just fit, see?”

“I don’t remember glowing when I was crowned,” Arthur leaned back.

“But you were,” Merlin said reasonably. “You just weren’t paying attention.” Arthur squinted, and Merlin gave him a soft, fond smile back.

“What I’m curious about,” Morgana mused. “Is whether this news is going to spread. And how the magical community is going to react to the Once and Future King being the DMM branch head they’ve been protesting the last few years.”

“They seemed fairly willing to forgive him yesterday,” Gwen pointed out.

“That was a big, thick burst of magic,” Merlin sipped at his tea. “They’d be hard-pressed not to respond to it.”

“I’m going to have to earn their trust,” Arthur said in a low voice. They all turned to find him with his fingers caged over his mouth. “That’s how it works,” he continued. “Albion or not, they shouldn’t have any reason to like me until I get some better policies rolling.” He pulled his hand from his mouth. “Kings ought to be serving their people, not the other way around.”

Several beats of silence, punctuated by someone outside the tent warbling an old tavern song. Gwen had little starbursts of pride that reminded her of how she had fallen in love with this man centuries ago.

“Singing a different tune from a few weeks ago,” Morgana smiled slightly.

“Funnily enough,” Arthur leaned his head on one hand. “Remembering your past life as a king changes some things.”

“I’ll help you,” Gwen said. “In any way you and Morgana need it.”

“Same,” Merlin lifted a hand. “The whole thing is going to be a nasty piece of work, and people might respond better if you have Emrys backing you up.” He paused. “Though if you have stupid ideas, I’ll be letting you know.”

“Well that’s certainly never stopped you before,” Arthur sighed laboriously. “I can’t imagine it’d be any different now.”

Merlin snorted into his mug.

They all jerked their heads up suddenly at a loud bang.

“That sounds like fireworks,” Gwen commented above the ensuing cheer. “I hope the knights aren’t having too much trouble.”

“Please,” Arthur snorted. “I’ll wager that they’ve joined in at this point.”

“That’s…probably true,” Gwen allowed.

“Is it really all over though?” Morgana asked Merlin. “Did we really fix it?”

Everyone watched Merlin frown down at his tea, his fingers tapping at the sides. He looked, Gwen thought, especially loaded down at that moment. Too many weights on his shoulders.

“I’m afraid to say yes,” he said in a thin voice. “The rift was a big one. Deep. I don’t think it’ll ever quite go away.” He lifted his head. “But I think we took care of the worse of it. It’ll scar and it’ll still ache on the wrong days, but it won’t…it won’t get any worse. Hopefully.”

Gwen wished she could lift whatever made Merlin’s back bow like that and made his expression so drawn. And she suspected that she would be able to help, slowly, over the coming weeks and months. They’d all help.

They lapsed into silence for another long stretch, and Gwen luxuriated in the calm, after so many days of stress.

“Look,” Arthur murmured, long after the tea mugs had been drained. “Sun’s coming up.”

And indeed, the tent fabric had lit up orange.

“Let’s go see,” Merlin made a sudden motion to stand, which just made Arthur lurch toward him like he expected Merlin to topple over. Which made Merlin scowl and call Arthur a clotpole.

But in the end the four of them did push aside the tent flap. They were facing the right direction; the sun spilled from the distant hills like something from a movie; all orange-gold and fresh yellow. Gwen’s eyes slid to Arthur almost involuntarily, and found that the sunlight sparked off Excalibur’s hilt.

Merlin inhaled, then paused.

“You smell that?” he asked.

Gwen lifted her head slightly, and a gentle breeze pushed into her face. It was morning-cool, and had a sweet, green tang to it.

She exhaled hard and said, “It smells like spring.”

***

They took a week to get back to Newcastle.

Five days out of the seven were overtaken completely with celebrating. Sorcerers and druids, it turned out, were proficient at it. Homemade brews and cheap packs of beer and wine had been pulled out that first morning, and the supply didn’t seem to dwindle. Gwen suspected that magic was involved somehow.

And then there were gobs of food cooked over campfires, dancing, singing, laughing and joking. Several parties made trips down to the coast to properly greet the merfolk and include them in the festivities. Even the dryads, elementals, and other magical creatures got involved, even if the brews they offered made anyone who drank them disoriented for days afterward.

The best part came on the second day after the rift had healed, when a battered car arrived and from it stepped a woman with kind eyes and a young man with a lanky mop of hair. Merlin had made several choked sounds when he saw them.

No one saw Merlin for the next few hours after that, unless they glimpsed him and Hunith rambling across the empty fields with their heads bent toward each other and a smile on Merlin’s face.

(Will, after a boisterous reunion with Merlin, proceeded to fall in with Gwaine far too easily for anyone’s sense of peace.)

Gwen partook in her share of the celebrations. But she preferred the calm evenings spent with old friends, recounting memories of Camelot. Sometimes these evenings were lighthearted, other times less so.

There were long talks in the light of banking embers, over fresh cups of coffee, through the fuzzy haze of alcohol. It was, Gwen thought, something like a long, therapeutic session for all of them. Not that all past injustices got smoothed over, but most were addressed at least.

Gwen decided that the rift’s healing had something to do with it. In the early mornings, when everyone was still quiet, she could feel Albion surrounding her in easy, long pulses. It hummed at her, she thought, like a great, content cat. When she asked Merlin about it, he agreed that something had relaxed into itself. The magic was flowing again, he said. A little stilted still, but flowing.

Eventually, though, everyone had to acknowledge that they had real life waiting for them.

Most of the people who had lived in Camelot’s days agreed that, while their new memories would still take some getting used to, it didn’t mean they had to change anything about their lives. As Isolde put it, “Can’t really put ‘resurrected swordswoman’ on the CV, can you?”

Gwen was grateful for that. She was grateful that Gaius seemed more than prepared to keep running the Newscastle DMM branch, that the knights seemed quite content to keep their police jobs, that even Vivian said she’d be going back to her desk job.

“And you?” Lance asked on the sixth day, when festivities had died down and packing had begun. They were struggling with stuffing a tent back into its slipcover.

“I’m staying in Newcastle,” Gwen straightened and wiped at her brow when they’d finally managed it. The temperature had shuffled into warmer and warmer regions the last few days, and she was now down to a t-shirt and jacket. “I’ve realized that the Belford project is going to need a massive overhaul. That’s going to take up a large part of my time, when I’m not helping Arthur and Morgana.”

“You still think the project is a good idea?” Lance asked.

“Oh yes,” Gwen nodded hard. “Talking to people here has made that much clear. But I was going at it all wrong. I was thinking of it as a fenced off community. Can’t do that; Nimueh was right. We need to give these people a completely safe zone, but not cut them off from the rest of the country. Anyway, I’ve got contacts and I’m going to be going around the area to have interviews and meetings and…” She cleared her throat. “I’ll be busy, in any case.

“Mm,” Lance hauled the tent up and picked up a second one they’d already packed. “Well, if you need any of your guard to tag along, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Who…the knights?” Gwen frowned as they began walking to where the cars were parked. “You’re all employed by the city now, you know, not me and Arthur. We don’t have a guard.”

“As long as you’re the queen and Arthur is king, we’re you’re guard,” Lance shrugged, like it was all out of his hands and he was just reporting the rules. “We made oaths.”

“In another lifetime,” Gwen pointed out.

“Listen, we all discussed this and we all agreed. We want to keep the oaths,” Lance told her. Gwen puttered her lips.

As she and Lance neared the cars, they found Arthur hauling coolers into Gaius’ car. He still had Excalibur at his side, which should have looked at odds with his casual, rumpled modern clothes. But the sword looked as comfortable there as it had in the old days.

Arthur was, Gwen decided, beautiful. It had not so much to do with his appearance as the way he carried himself. Perhaps she was seeing that soft, morning light that had spilled from him when he first accepted Excalibur.

Gwen gave Lance a sidelong look, and found him watching Arthur as well. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he tilted his head over to her.

They took a few moments to study each other, until Lance readjusted the tent and cleared his throat.

“Figure it out as we go along, right?” he said.

Gwen took one of the tents from Lance and swung it over her shoulder.

“That’s the plan.”

***

They got back to Newcastle on a Tuesday night. Gaius gave everybody permission to take Wednesday off, and Gwen took that opportunity to carefully sort through her collection of books on Arthurian legend, and chose which to keep and which to give away. They seemed much less necessary now that she had her own memories to go on.

When Gwen found T.H. White’s _The Once and Future King_ she almost had to laugh. That all felt like years ago now, though if she looked at a calendar she’d find it had been all within a month.

On Thursday, Gwen rode the bus to work and found a deep enjoyment from the sheer normalcy of it. She had a longer stride when she pushed open the door to the government building, and nearly split her face grinning at Vivian behind the front desk.

Vivian, for her part, straightened and made a frantic beckoning motion. Gwen’s smile dropped and she hurried across the tiled floor.

“Is everything alright?” Gwen asked in a low voice.

“Probably not,” Vivian admitted. “Uther Pendragon just walked into the DMM office five minutes ago.”

“Oh,” Gwen said blankly, then licked her lips and took a steadying inhale. “Has Gaius come in yet? Arthur? Morgana?”

“I’ve only seen Arthur and Morgana,” Vivian said, her eyes wide.

“Right,” Gwen nodded her head once. “Well. Best take care of that then.” Vivian’s expression was not envious in the least as she wished Gwen good luck.

When Gwen pushed open the DMM office door, she found a well-tailored suit and a head of graying hair. Despite everything, something inside her still remembered when Uther had been a king, Gwen a serving girl, and Tom a blacksmith who had trusted the wrong people. It made her want to turn back around or bodily attack Uther.

Only then she found Arthur standing just beyond Uther, his arms crossed. He had on an expression that Gwen had seen too many times, at too many round table meetings, not to trust.

Beside him, Morgana stood tall and proud, and although she had the determination she’d always shown when confronting Uther, she didn’t have the same franticness.

Arthur’s eyes flicked over to her as the door swung shut, and his arms uncrossed slowly.

Uther had been in the middle of saying something, but he must have seen the action because he turned slightly. Gwen hitched her messenger bag slightly higher on her shoulder and met Uther’s eyes.

“Hello, Mr. Pendragon,” she said, all politeness.

Uther’s eyes narrowed. Beyond him, Morgana leaned forward slightly, like she was worried for Gwen’s well-being somehow. Gwen dipped her head and raised her eyebrows. Morgana straightened again, slowly.

“Ms. Smith,” Uther said stiffly. There followed a long silence, and Gwen had to wonder whether Uther had figured out that the serving girl had ended up running his kingdom.

“Is there a problem?” Gwen finally decided to ask.

“Several,” Uther turned back to his children, and Gwen got the sudden sense she had been dismissed. So she left her messenger bag by the door and strode over to stand beside Morgana. Uther’s eyebrows quirked and Morgana brushed her hand.

“As I was saying,” Arthur spoke up. “I am not trying to ‘depose’ you,”—Gwen could hear the quotation marks—“We’re not monarchs anymore, father. Not in that sense.”

“Yet you’ve apparently become a magical apologist since the last time I saw you,” Uther snapped. “I thought you had firmer convictions than that.”

Gwen looked over to find Arthur’s jaw rippling, and his eyes oddly shining. She felt a sudden swell of pity for him.

“You can stop pretending that you don’t remember everything,” Morgana said. “We’re just trying to avoid making the exact same mistakes as last time. The way we’ve been passing these policies has made the magical community—“

“I know you like to think you’re very knowledgeable about the magical community, Morgana, but—“

“I’m _part_ of the magical community,” Morgana all but roared. “I have visions! Unless you’re still insisting of thinking of them as hallucinations. You remember last time? Remember how you were ready to execute me for that?”

Uther’s expression trembled on the cusp of anger and something else. It took Gwen a moment to decide that it was fear. Real, deep fear. That almost made Uther more dangerous.

At that moment, the door swung open yet again to admit Gaius and Merlin, the latter of whom looked wide-eyed and as if he expected some kind of disaster area. Gaius just looked calculating.

“Well,” Gaius said after a few seconds. “Nice to see you here again Uther. When was the last time? 2010?”

“This is not the time, Gaius,” Uther scowled, and then his eyes fell on Merlin. “And you.”

“Don’t,” Arthur’s voice cracked through the office like a bullwhip. “Father—“

“You’ve laid this madness on all of us, haven’t you?” Uther demanded, and he took a step closer to Merlin. Oddly enough, Gwen didn’t hear the anger in his voice as much as the fear. Something swiftly mounting into terror.

Merlin regarded Uther coolly.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“What?” Uther scowled.

“It’s all right. It’s a lot to take in; I don’t blame you for freaking out a little.” Merlin curled his hands around the hem of his coat. “But you don’t need to react like that. You really don’t. People have gotten killed from someone like you reacting like that. Like the whole world’s out to get you when it’s really not.”

Uther made some indiscernible noise. Then he looked back at Arthur and Morgana. He looked confused now.

And then Gaius said, his voice all reasonableness, “Perhaps we ought to all sit down and talk.” He started shucking his coat, and he had on a small smile. “I’ve discovered in the last week or so that sitting down to talk like adults can produce veritable miracles.”

Uther cleared his throat. Straightened his suit jacket.

“I can manage that,” he said, his voice tight.

It didn’t necessarily mean anything. It didn’t guarantee that Arthur and Morgana would have any easier a time changing the DMM’s policies. It didn’t mean that Uther would listen to a word any of them said. But it felt like a step in the right direction, and Gwen decided to take it.

So she filed into the familiar meeting room and reminded herself that she had been—was still—a queen. A Once and Future Queen. Accompanied by a High Priestess, a Once and Future King, a wickedly smart court physician and one of the greatest sorcerers of all time. They’d manage it somehow.


	21. Epilogue

The morning sun seeped across the water in an orange haze. Merlin picked his way across the beach with his chin ducked into his coat collar. It was not quite as cold out here as it had been last year, he thought, but it was still chilly.

The waters remained undisturbed by any silvery fish tails; the merfolk had done the sensible thing and gone south for the winter months, now that there was no impending magical apocalypse. Still, Merlin kept an eye out. There was always a maverick or two who remained in the area.

The sound that echoed across the beach could have come from a jet. If said jet had massive, leathery wings that carried a several-ton fire-breathing creature.

Merlin tilted his head back and grinned as Kilgarrah’s bulk swept into view. He paused and watched as the dragon settled on the beach a few hundred yards away, then began ambling toward him.

“Want to be careful,” Merlin called out as he neared. “People are going to get nervous around a dragon no matter how much federal protection you have.”

“Please,” Kilgarrah huffed. “I have ways of slipping past humans’ attention.” He had amusement in the way he tilted his head. “You look well, Emrys.”

“I…yeah, I guess I am,” Merlin paused and tilted his head back slightly to look at Kilgarrah. “Things have been going…shockingly well recently. You hear Gwen’s Belford project is finally getting off the ground?”

“The news has trickled to me, yes,” Kilgarrah nodded. “Mordred has relayed to me that several anti-magic policies have been repealed, yes? It seems his great-aunt can now start as many cooking fires as she wishes.”

“Yeah,” Merlin rubbed at his forehead. “That one turned into a bit of a drag out fight, but between Arthur, Morgana and Gwen, we managed. I mean, even Uther sort of helped in the end, and that was all but miraculous.”

Kilgarrah made a low humming sound, as if he were purring.

“They are nearby, are they not?” he asked. “I saw your camp site.”

“Ah yeah,” Merlin gestured loosely toward inland. “We all came out here to check on the rift. See if it’s been getting any worse.”

“And?”

“Nimueh, Morgause, Morgana and I all feel like it’s stable,” Merlin nodded. “Freya and Aglain too. I think we’re doing alright.”

Kilgarrah echoed the nod.

“Then it seems that we achieved it, in the end,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“The time of peace.” Kilgarrah dipped his head to see Merlin more clearly. “If this rift began in the days of Camelot, and has been healed now, perhaps that means we have better days before us.”

“Yeah,” Merlin felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Maybe.”

A beat of silence, filled by the _hiss_ of the waves meeting the beach.

“Kilgarrah?” Merlin said. “If that’s true…does that mean that when we die, we’ll die properly? Does it mean that I can…” Merlin had to pause and lick his lips. “That I’ll be able to die at all?”

Kilgarrah shifted his stance.

“What do you think?” he rumbled.

“I don’t know. The High Priestesses can only guess, really. I tried asking Albion but I don’t think it really understood the question. Dying isn’t something it does.”

“Then,” Kilgarrah mused. “I’d say you’ll have to wait a few decades to know for certain. Although, I have a hard time believing Albion would ever truly give up its youngest son. We may see you again in the future.”

“Maybe,” Merlin sighed. The thought made him tired, in all honesty. But then again, he didn’t have to deal with that now. He had decades of a relatively normal life to live. Decades surrounded by people he cared about.

Speaking of which.

“I’d better head back,” he told Kilgarrah. “Someone’s going to realize I’m gone and wonder where I am.”

“Very well,” Kilgarrah rustled his wings. “It was good to speak with you, Emrys. We will meet again soon.”

Merlin nodded, then squinted his eyes against the sharp wind Kilgarrah produced as he took off. The dragon circled the beach once, then headed to the north. Merlin amused himself with the notion that Kilgarrah had a cave somewhere up there.

The walk back to the campsite was faster than the walk out. As Merlin neared the scattering of tents, he smelled the campfire’s smoke and something like coffee. That would be Gwaine, probably, since he had been the one who insisted on bringing the kettle.

“I for one would have loved having coffee back in Camelot,” Gwaine had defended himself the night before, when Leon reminded him that they used to sleep in nothing but their cloaks and breakfasted on cold meats and breads. “It would have made those patrols much more tolerable.”

“Agreed,” Mordred had added, at which point Leon had thrown up his hands.

The memory made Merlin grin and pick up his pace.

And indeed, as he neared, he found Gwaine crouched in front of a fire with a kettle hanging over it. Percival and Elyan looked to be preparing breakfast with Gaius, while Aithusa hung around hoping that the bacon might make its way in her direction. Mordred was sitting on a log next to Morgana and showing her something with small bursts of magic dancing around his fingers. Morgana was copying them, while Morgause watched with an intent expression.

Gwen and Lance were just approaching the site with piles of scrap wood in their arms, Gwen laughing hard at something Lance had just said. Freya and Nimueh sounded like they were discussing how one would manipulate water to boil instantly while Leon listened in with interest if not full comprehension.

Merlin allowed himself to hover at the edge of the scene, unseen as of yet and able to soak all of it up. Albion pulsed beneath him like it felt his contentment.

Then Arthur rounded one of the tents. Almost instantly, his eyes found Merlin.

Merlin inhaled sharply.

Arthur was lit up in the orange-gold of the morning sun. To Merlin, it seemed as if Arthur returned his own version of that dawn light. Something brimming with promise. He looked, for a moment, like something eternal.

Merlin wondered, then, if things like them were just incapable of dying. Maybe things like stories and peoples’ hopes made it impossible. The notion struck Merlin as possibly wearying, but simultaneously hopeful. People like him, Arthur, Gwen, and Morgana could get a lot done with their version of immortality, he thought.

Then, the next second, Arthur just looked like Arthur again, with his hair mussed and his eyes still bleary and his clothes wrinkled. He grinned—a human grin, a fond, wrinkled grin—across the campsite at Merlin and then beckoned him to join them.

Merlin released a long exhale.

He stepped forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Soundtrack can be found here](http://8tracks.com/story_monger/we-lost-the-roadmap)


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